


Souls On Fire

by xantissa



Series: Souls On Fire [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Ghosts, Lots and lots of sex, M/M, Magic, Sex, Torture, very old story so be gentle, year 2004
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 65,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Angel met an extremely sexy stranger in the nite club one night, he never suspected the auburn haired Cajun would change his life so drastically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Angel Investigation has it's headquarter at the Hyperion, and Spike has his chip taken out although no one knows yet.  
> Mutants aren't known to humans. X-men exist but are not recognized nor written about in news papers. It is sort of sequel to my little story "Lost in you"

Part 1

Angel entered the crowded club and paused near the door. The scent of arousal, alcohol and dozens of warm, live bodies assaulted him, filling him, making his vampire senses go wild.

Normally he hated crowds, felt awkward in the company of people, but today was different.

Today, when he woke up from the nightmare that still made his hands shake, today when he watched Cordelia hug Wesley in greeting… today when he understood that he was more alone than he had ever been in his whole unlife.

When he watched Cordelia greet Wesley, he felt more acutely that he was never touched, unless it was some kind of medical necessity.

He couldn't have a lover, because he couldn't have a moment of perfect happiness; that would bring his demon back - Angelus.

So he lived in his hotel, alone and silent, and helped people. The pattern was established long ago. Cordelia would get a vision, and they would go out to slay something big, nasty and usually very evil.

When they came back he would comfort Cordelia, assure Wesley that everything was okay and then go to his bedroom, alone, hurting and hungry.

There were never any words of comfort for him.

He was only a vampire to humans; and too human for demons.

Cast out of his world, forced to kill most of his demon kind, he was more alone than ever before. Granted, as a vampire without a soul he didn't see love as humans do, but he saw and respected blood ties. The comfort of having his demonic family with him. 

Now he had nothing. No one to turn to for comfort, no one to turn to for laughter, no one to turn to for release.

Only this dark emptiness that was his life now, when his soul wailed for light and love… and simple companionship.

This night, when he woke up with his throat sore from screaming and with his own blood under his nails he did something he hadn't done in years.

Sitting on the bed, trying to scrub the dried blood from his chest where his nails tore at his own flesh in the nightmare, he started drinking.

He needed comfort and drink was the only thing that was in his reach.

He could just imagine himself calling Wesley at 1 a.m. and crying on his shoulder that he regretted killing Darla or Penn, that he wanted his mad Princess back.

That he wanted to fuck something.

This led to the thought he tried to avoid most of the time. That he still had a small part of his family alive.

Spike a.k.a William the Bloody.

His Favored Childe. The only one alive. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, the hard, pounding music bringing back the image of a lean, bleached blonde with cutting glass cheekbones to his mind. He looked so beautiful, so strong and so unbelievably sexy the last time saw him. This last vision of him, when his Childe had become a Master Vampire in his own right, the sheer power there drove hot pokers of remembrance through him. 

Angel forced the image out of his mind before he remembered the burning hatred in his Childe's eyes. Spike loathed him, hated him with passion. Spike that was now neutered, the chip in his head preventing him from attacking people, Spike who was fucking his ex-lover… Spike for whom Angel still had a soft spot. One hundred and thirty years and he still wanted his Childe as much as he did the day his demon self murdered the young poet. 

He made his way to the bar and ordered a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He had had enough thinking tonight, enough of grief and feeling sorry for himself. His life was the effect of his choices and he was tired of feeling weak and sorry for everything, he was tired of the constant guilt that was eating him and frankly, he was sick of himself.

Him, a two hundred and fifty year old vampire was apologizing to everyone and everything for the things that his demon did. And everyone expected it of him, conveniently forgetting that he had been sent to Hell for 500 years! He had paid his debt, at least in his mind.

A memory of his dream, the memory from the Hell dimension suddenly came back and his hand jerked, the drink nearly spilling. He cursed and downed it in one gulp. 

He wanted to forget, to loose himself if only for this one night…

He downed two more drinks before turning to the crowded dance floor, just watching people dance, feeling their spirits and their life force. 

Suddenly a single figure caught his eye.

He was young, maybe 24 years old; maybe even younger, but he was absolutely beautiful.

He had a long, lean, hard body dressed in black jeans so tight they looked as if painted on him and a silver, fishnet shirt clinging to his well defined body with sleeves so long, they reached his knuckles.

Long fingers, almost delicate in build held a cigarette loosely. Angel noticed the swelling and bruises on that hand and guessed that the man had to have participated in a fight lately. Something told him that the other one looked much, much worse.

There was an incredible, catlike grace in his movements as he swayed to the pounding music, his hips twisting and arching with the washed out jeans showing every flex of his thighs. 

Slowly, enjoying the view, Angel dragged his eyes higher to the other man's face and felt his unneeded breath catch at the sight.

Even through the club was dark and smoky, the man held his sunglasses in place. His shoulder length, auburn hair swayed in counterpoint to his moves, his tanned, smooth skin looked incredibly inviting when he arched his head back, and Angel felt a pang of desire in his loins.

The man had a beautiful, sensual face with sharp cheekbones. Full lips were lightly parted, and a hypnotized Angel watched a pink tongue slip from the dark cave and moisten them only to hide again. He exuded open, blatant sensuality. 

Later, Angel never knew what made him move. Maybe it was the strange, depressed state he was in, and maybe it was that bottle of whiskey he just finished… or maybe destiny itself, but he got up and headed in the direction of the beautiful man, his dark expression and powerful build forcing the crowd to step back and let him pass.

* * *

Remy didn't stop dancing when he felt the intense scrutiny. His sunglasses allowed him to look at the dark man without him noticing.

He was big. Tall, with a mass of muscles that reminded him of… he shook his head. No, he came here to forget, not to think about the life that he left behind.  
Dark, short, spiky hair and those incredible, brown eyes. So dark, so full of pain and… passion.

Closing his eyes and tilting his head back, swaying his body to the music he opened his empathy a little and let himself feel the attractive stranger that seemed to be shaped from the shadow itself. 

Darkness.

Power.

Passion.

Pain.

Goodness.

Evil.

It all swirled just under the surface of this strange, complex man. But the emotion that overlaid all else was the sense of despair that screamed to him.

Yes, he knew this kind of desire. The emotion that made you drink just a little too much, that made you smoke just this one more cigarette… the emotion that made you expose your body to a total stranger that held a killer beneath the smooth surface.

With another twist of his body, Remy let his hair fell back and his long neck was exposed for just a moment, before he twisted once more and turned his back to the stranger.

The dangerous stranger.

It was like playing with fire, letting it touch you, lick you a little… balancing on the fine edge of pleasure and pain.

He closed his eyes, listening to the music that seemed to match his mood just perfectly.

*

The things you do  
Aren't good for my health  
The moves you make  
You make for yourself  
The means you use  
Aren't meant to confuse  
Although they do  
They're the one's that I would choose

* * *

Something inside him, his demon, the creature of passion that he was in his core responded to the blatant invitation.

The auburn haired man danced for himself the whole time Angel watched him, never allowing anybody to join him, but now, although with his back turned to Angel, he was dancing for him.

Angel watched the tight backside sway and move in the hypnotic rhythm of the song. He always thought that Depeche Mode had something in their rhythms…

*  
I wouldn't want it any other way  
You wouldn't let me any way  
*

He stopped just behind the graceful dancer, letting his spicy scent wash over him, letting himself feel the heat coming off that luscious body and then started moving.

His hips almost touched the jean-clad backside and his arms although not touching yet, made a perfect cradle for the lithe form. 

He could smell the rush of pheromones and the heat and felt something inside him let go. The fact that he didn't dance in public didn't mean he couldn't. Vague memories of a previous life came to him, the way he seduced, maimed and killed… the way he loved laughter, music… and pain. Some of that stayed with him.

Not sensing any tension in the seductive form, he decided to let go completely.

*  
Dangerous  
The way you leave me wanting more  
*

Angel let his hand touch the firm flesh in front of him and slid it slowly to the hard, washboard stomach and rested it there, spreading his fingers as much as possible, catching the heat coming through the silver fishnet.

*  
Dangerous  
That's what I want you for  
*

He could feel the demon inside him howl and felt himself harden, when the body in his arms, still swaying perfectly to the rhythm, moved closer, molding itself perfectly against his bigger frame.

*  
Dangerous  
When I am in your arms  
Dangerous  
Know I won't come to harm  
*

Feeling more alive and more aroused than he could remember, he decided to be himself for once.

No groveling, no beating himself for something he did centuries ago… Closing his eyes briefly to enjoy the scent of his living, aroused partner better, he moved his other hand to the well muscled shoulder and slowly, sensuously, still matching the rhythm of the song, slid it lower through the prominent biceps, through the elbow, forearm and stopped briefly on the surprisingly delicate wrist, then, never loosing the rhythm he gripped the wrist and slowly pulled it up, directing the fingers still holding the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, keeping the loose hand firmly against his lips, letting his moist tongue flick lightly over the long, elegant fingers before letting it drop again.

*  
The lies you tell  
Aren't meant to deceive  
They're not there  
For me to believe  
I've heard  
Your vicious words  
You know by now  
It takes a lot to see me hurt  
*

Angel could smell the heady scent of arousal surrounding them, could feel the lithe, hard body. Through his hand, he could feel every move of the muscles in the other man's stomach while they danced. 

Letting a small smile play on his lips he shifted a little and pressed his knee between the other man's thighs forcing him to spread them and let him even closer.

For the first time in two hundred years, his soul and his demon wanted the same thing.

This man.

*  
I couldn't take it any other way  
But there's a price I have to pay  
* * *

Remy felt a wave of heat spread from his belly down, filling his cock and making him even more turned on. The music, the feel of the powerful, hard body behind him, was driving him mad with lust.

Every time they would move, his backside would brush against the tell-tale bulge in the other man's pants, the large hand lying on his stomach was cool and so incredibly pale on his silver fishnet shirt and the way the stranger would occasionally pull his hand upwards and take a deep drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke surround them, was affecting him more than he ever expected.

His emotions were dark, powerful and oh-so seductive.

Remy shivered when he felt the stranger touch his hair and push it aside, tracing the contour of his glasses. Just when he took hold of the sunglasses, intending to pull them away, he caught the thick wrist and squeezed in warning.

"Non." His accent was thick and his words were quiet but he had no doubt that the other man heard him when the hold on the shades relaxed and the hand slid down his head in slow caress that made him even harder.

*  
Dangerous  
The way you leave me wanting more  
Dangerous  
That's what I want you for  
Dangerous  
When I am in your arms  
Dangerous  
Know I won't come to harm  
*

The song finally finished and another one started, but they still moved to that hypnotic, smooth rhythm. 

"Are you dangerous?" Remy asked quietly. 

He felt the bigger man lean closer and speak directly into his ear, his cool lips barely touching his lobe.

"More than you can imagine." A warning, a dark promise… delivered in the most seductive voice.

Remy stepped away and looking over his shoulder at the dark, handsome stranger let his lips curl into a sly, inviting grin just before he disappeared in the crowd.

His message was clear.

Hunt me down.

Angel felt a shiver of excitement run down his spine, feeling more alive than ever before.

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

 

Letting the scent guide him, Angel emerged through the back door, smelling the spicy, sensual scent of the stranger leading him. His vampire sight allowed him to see the figure in nearly total darkness.

Slowly he let the door slam shut, cutting off the only source of light. The man still had his shades on. He was leaning on the wall, the long duster covering his lithe frame, one leg bent and his foot pressed to the wall. The angle made the powerful muscles of his thigh flex and the material of his black jeans stretched just this little more, making the bulge in his pants obvious. The scent of male arousal in the still night air was strong and intoxicating; Angel could feel his demon howling, turning restlessly inside of him. 

He watched the slim hands, now covered with fingerless, leather gloves, holding a cigarette to that sensuous mouth. The stranger's head was turned down, his auburn hair obscuring his face.

After a while the stranger lifted his head and looked at Angel. And that was it. No talk, no introduction, nothing. Just this white-hot lust that shot between them, blew up like a bomb.

Before he had the time to register the fact, Angel had the younger man pinned to the wall and his lips crushing the supple lips under him, bruising them, forcing his tongue inside.

Something akin to a growl left the smaller man's throat and Angel could feel strong fingers digging into his arms, teeth parting to grant him entry and then a wet, hot, slick tongue pushing, teasing his own.

There was no finesse, no gentleness… only a rough, primitive lust that caused them to tear at their clothing, to grip and squeeze and bite all the accessible flesh. 

Angel pressed hard against the lithe body, grinding his arousal into the matching one of the stranger. A soft moan broke the silence and he wasn't sure which of them was the cause. He could almost feel the roar of his borrowed blood in his ears.

The stranger finally broke the kiss, breathing harshly against his lips. His body exuded heat like a furnace and the scent of arousal was driving him mad.

"Come with me?" Angel asked, his voice hoarse and raw with need. 

The auburn-haired man cocked his head, his eyes hidden behind the ever present shades and betrayed nothing, but he nodded, once, sharply and one slim hand twisted itself into Angel's short hair and pulled him down into a hard, demanding kiss.

It was awhile before Angel had the strength to pull himself away from the kiss.

"I've got a car…"

"Bike…" The words were panted harshly against his neck just before blunt, human teeth bit into the vulnerable skin of his neck.

Trying desperately to focus enough to form a coherent sentence, Angel's hands slipped under the thin trench coat and squeezed the hard buttock encased in black jeans.

"Follow me?"

"Oui." Came muffled reply and skilled, bold hands slipped under his shirt seeking sensitive places. Angel hissed and jerked the lithe figure to him crushing his lips to the sensual ones. 

* * *

Remy still felt the hot rush of desire while maneuvering his bike behind the large, black car of the stranger. He knew it was a risk to follow somebody he'd just met home, that it was plain stupid to basically agree to everything but… but there was something intensely erotic, dark and powerful about the brooding figure.   
The way his powerful body molded against his own, leaner frame made him feel… desired.

Desire was something he knew intimately, his empathy giving him the ability to see and experience every emotion in the extreme. Still, no matter how much darkness he could sense in the stranger, he also sensed a control that made him both trust and shiver with trepidation. It was like playing with a wounded, wild animal on a leash, knowing that the chain could give out any moment…   
Still, the endless ocean of control that seemed to be the very core of the dark man, made him believe that he was safe. As naive as it sounded, he was sure that he was in no danger from the man. 

Not like… The memories came unbidden. Fucking X-Men, with their noble talk and righteous hearts! He believed in what they did, believed in the cause, gave them everything he had, risked his life on a daily basis and what did he get in return? 

Betrayal. Twice.

First, they judged him in Antarctica and sentenced him to death, not ever giving him the benefit of doubt. And when he returned? Well… nothing changed. He was still called a slut, a whore, a murderer and traitor. 

Still, he wanted to help others like him, mutants that had no place of their own in this human world. When he was sent on an undercover mission, he went willingly, aware of the great risk. The one thing he couldn't understand nor forgive, was their betrayal of him then. When he called for backup, knowing that his cover was blown and he had only hours to escape he… was laughed at. Rogue answered the call and said that he was probably overreacting… and he was alone when the mob came. 

He had thought he died. He prayed for death in that filthy, dark warehouse. But a month ago he woke up in the Mansion's infirmary. Weak, hurting and confused he knew only one thing. He needed to leave that hateful place once and for all. Those people would never accept him, never trust him, never try to understand.

So no matter how weak, he all but crawled from place that caused him only pain and humiliation. As far away as he could… 

Now, nearly a month later, he understood that someone finally had come for him and found his battered and broken body in that filthy warehouse. They patched him up and wired him to dozens of machines to keep him alive. For thirteen months.

Why? He didn't know. 

When he first realized what date it was, he nearly fainted. The realization that he had spent more than a year of his life, unconscious was… disturbing. But it also explained a lot. The new scars that adorned his body, the significant loss of body weight and muscle mass. The weakness that made him sleepy and depressed for the first few weeks… But it didn't explain his dreams. Strange, powerful, colorful, disturbing and so painfully real! Eventually, it was the dreams that drove him to that club to drink, dance and try to loose himself in the emotions of others.

Until he felt Him, this dark, powerful presence that sparked a fire inside him that he hasn't felt in a long, long time… 

Remy was brought back to reality when the car stopped in front of a huge, old hotel - The Hyperion. The windows were dark and closed and there were no cars in the vicinity. It was obviously not used anymore.

He stopped his sleek, Kawasaki Ninja inches from the man's feet and grinned, hearing his sharp intake of breath.

* * *

Angel watched as the man drove the Japanese speed demon in a highly effective manner; obviously showing off. The bike was light and had a temper, just like its owner. 

The sight of that lean, hard frame curled on the steel monster, driven straight at him with the roaring powerful engine, was enough to make his erection even more painful.

The concentration on his face and the flowing auburn hair made him look even more sexy than before and Angel didn't even blink when the machine started closing on him, the game of danger resumed. 

Would he break first? Will he step back?

But Angel wasn't playing this game for the first time and his face didn't show a thing when the motorbike skidded to a halt, mere inches from his face and the auburn haired Cajun grinned shutting the engine off.

"Your place?" Asked the stranger looking at the old façade. 

"Yes." Angel almost hissed those words, wanting him inside right now. "Come?" He asked extending his hand to the Cajun.

"M' papa always told me not to go wid strangers…"

Angel cocked his head to the side and regarded the younger man with interest. Was it a rebuke? No, the single glance towards his crotch clearly stated that he was as interested as before.

"My name is Angel. Yours?"

A slight curve of the other man's lips was his reward for quick thought.

"Remy… guess y' no stranger no more, heh?" With than he slid from the bike with the grace and ease of a jungle cat.

Angel didn't wait. He pulled the younger man to himself and kissed him harshly, forcing a whimper out of him.

He couldn't remember opening the door, nor inviting his companion inside. All he was aware of was the heat of his body and the spicy, arousing scent that permeated the air.

They shucked their coats off, their lips still attached, hands pawing at each other without finesse, without gentleness- only a sharp, wild, urgent lust that threatened to drive them mad.

Remy hit something with his hip and the sound of shattered glass filled the air but Angel barely noticed, feeling the blunt teeth nibble at his jaw and hard, muscular thigh press between his legs, setting him on fire all over again.

Angel gripped him by the shoulders and spun around, until Remy was facing the wall. The strength of the taller man left him dizzy and hot. The Cajun had only enough time to brace himself before his fishnet shirt was ripped in two and he was stripped to his waist in a matter of seconds. The cool air touched his naked back, causing him to shiver. 

As soon as the silvery material uncovered his body, Remy felt a cool, wet lick from the base of his spine to his very neck.

"Merde!" He hissed when his knees threatened to give under him. He couldn't remember ever being so hot, so absolutely desperate to be fucked, pressed to the cool wall by a man he met not half an hour ago.

Angel's only response to his hiss was a low chuckle behind him and then blunt, human teeth on the back of Remy's neck. 

The vampire growled low in his throat, he wanted to take the boy so badly he felt his demon slowly taking control, but he didn't want it to end too soon. The only way was to take the edge off for both of them, judging from the scent- Remy was as desperate as he. 

Keeping his teeth still on his neck, mauling it and scraping causing delicious little hisses and moans to escape the boy, he growled in the darkest voice he could manage.

"Undress."

The submissive whimper, the unconscious body language that told Angel that the boy would let him do anything, almost made him come on the spot. "Now!"

With fingers shaking from anticipation and hunger, he reached to his tight jeans and started unbuttoning them. Damn those button flies! 

As soon as the jeans were loose enough, Angel pushed them off the boy's slim hips and admired the corded, slim muscles of his legs when he pushed them down. Unable to stop himself, Angel bit the back of one thigh, feeling an unholy thrill at seeing the red imprints on the toned, honey-colored skin. He wanted to taste it, he wanted to let his demon face take over, he wanted to scent him with his senses, to break the skin and taste blood, all that fire he saw in the boy's face… just the very thought of what his blood would taste like, made him shudder and he jerked the pants all the way down and stood up abruptly, letting his nails graze the silky skin hard enough to leave marks, but not enough to actually break the skin. His nails marked the back of Remy's thighs, the hard buttocks and finally the expanse of hard back, muscles that danced under his not-gentle touch and the red marks that left behind.

"Mon Dieu! Oui!"

Angel watched the slim figure arch back and the soft, wet lips part in an expression of passion. So Remy didn't mind a little rough handling…

He spun him around, causing his hair to fly in a curtain of auburn velvet and threw him at the wall with a thud again, pressing his body to his again and kissing the Cajun harshly, letting him taste his passion and need for him, making the boy whimper. 

Never breaking his kiss, he got rid of his shirt and unzipped his pants, not bothering to undress. One hand he threaded into the silky mane and gripping hard, pulled his head back until the whole enticing expanse of neck was exposed to his liking. 

Keeping a fistful of auburn hair fairly in hand, he reached down and took their erections in his large, cool hand and squeezed them together, forcing a moan out of them both this time. 

He couldn't think anymore, his rational, stoic mind was shut off; only the lust and the overwhelming need to climax was left. He started working both their cocks, his cooler shaft pressed tightly to the hot one, drowning in the glorious friction. They both were so close that they both seeped pre-come and his hold became slick in a matter of seconds, making the friction all the sweeter.

But Remy wasn't going to stand there and do nothing. He pulled one of his thighs up and pressed it tightly to Angel's hip, which gave him more leverage to thrust into the strong grip, feeling his cock slid over the hard, thick shaft of his companion.

His hand came up to the short, spiky hair of his lover and tugged and pulled until he could feel those strong, full lips against him again, thrusting his tongue into the cool cavern of his mouth.

He was so engrossed in his sensations, so close to the edge, that he didn't even notice the near constant whimpering and sighs that escaped him.

Suddenly, in a rush of white hot pleasure he came, his body arching into the strong hold, his head jerking against the unforgiving fist in his hair and he spilled his seed all over his lover's hand.

Angel froze, watching his companion come, watching as the veins and tendons on his neck stood out and his whole body convulsed with pleasure. Seconds later, the hot seed spilled all over his hand, hitting his sense of smell full force and causing him to finally loose all control. He pushed the yielding body against the wall and thrust his own hardness against the hard, smooth belly bringing himself to a quick, brutally powerful orgasm, splashing his own seed all over the hard belly of his lover.

Remy watched the powerful muscles flex and then Angel threw his head back and howled when he came, his cock still thrusting against Remy's stomach, sliding in his own slickness and gripping Remy's hips with strength that was granted to leave bruises, but Remy didn't care, he only watched the beautiful tableau in front of him.

Darkness.

Power.

Sex.

Angel was all of it and much, much more…

Remy found his trench coat and pulled it closer, not really moving from his slumped position against the wall, where he slid down to the floor after they both stopped shuddering.

He sniggered at himself when he saw that he still had his boots on and that one leg of his jeans was tangled around his left boot. He cast a glance at his companion and couldn't stop a shudder of desire at the sight of that powerful, half naked body stretched on the floor. His chest was pale, hairless and so incredibly powerful. He saw some really well built men, Logan for example, but this… this was absolute perfection. Pale, smooth skin and an expanse of muscles that were made to be licked and bitten and tasted in all possible ways.

When Remy could reach into one of his bottomless pockets, he pulled a pack of cigarettes out. When he was lighting it with lighter, to hide his 'other' skills, he felt Angel's eyes on him.

The darker man was still lying on the floor, his head propped on one hand and was watching him with a far away look in his dark, almost black eyes. That intense stare turned Remy on, but he was way too experienced in the ways of passion to let it fool him.

"Why me?" He asked softly, his accent barely existent. For some reason he could talk to Angel without the third person routine, or the accent which indicated that it was a serious question.

But ever since he left the Mansion, he almost stopped talking in third person, the accent also started to disappear. He felt like a completely different person. One that had seen one thing too much, one that didn't care about all that anymore… 

Angel extended his hand towards Remy and the Cajun took another cigarette from the pack and lit it from his own, letting the smoke hide his face for a moment, then he gave the new cigarette to Angel, watching as the bigger man closed his eyes and took a deep drag, letting the smoke slowly, sensuously out…

"Because you are beautiful." Answered the black-haired man.

Remy nodded at his words, silently accepting the compliment. There was no false modesty in him to deny what he knew was true.

"Well… dat not exactly de truth, isn't it Cher?"

Angel's eyes flickered to the side for a brief moment then came back to him.

"I don't know what you mean." Angel tried to deny.

Remy smoked in silence for a while, letting the smoke fill him, watching the glowing tip of the cigarette go up and down in one graceful arc.

"Angel… I do not know you." He said seriously. "And you don't know me… there is no need to lie. You can not hurt me, just like I can not hurt you." While speaking, Remy kept his gaze on the glowing tip of the cigarette and his empathy in check. Anything and everything Angel wanted to give from himself had to be his own choice. 

The silence was heavy and long, broken only by Remy's soft exhales of smoke and slow, constant ticking of the office clock on the wall above them.

"You remind me of someone." Came the soft reply. "He also smokes a lot…" But this wasn't the only similarity.

The temper, the attitude, the joy of taking risks … All this reminded him of his Childe. The blatant sexuality made him wish that Remy's hair were shorter and bleached blonde. On the other hand, Remy wasn't hating him and God, did it make him feel good to be with someone who treated him like an equal. 

"So why aren't you wid him?"

Angel laughed a sad, bitter laugh at that.

"Because he hates me with vengeance… and for a good reason too. If I was with him right now, we would be doing everything to rip out each others' throats."

"Why?" Pressed Remy.

Angel faltered. How to tell Remy that he tortured Spike for 'decades', humiliated him, beat the hell out of him and made him his own, personal toy for almost thirty years? That he broke the one Vampire Lore that should be unbreakable - he destroyed the eternal bond of Sire/Childe? That he did something that other vampires never even thought about? Than his demon was so obsessed with a weak, new vampire, a mere fledgling, that he went against everything that the Lore said?

"I am not what you think I am Remy… I don't think you could understand."

Remy closed his eyes for a minute.

"I can understand more that you would suspect…" His voice was low and… dangerous. For the first time Angel considered the possibility that Remy may not be as delicate as he looked.

Later, Angel would blame it on the strange night, on the dangerous lack of restraint he showed, the carelessness that he wouldn't ever let himself, if it wasn't for the amount of alcohol he drank that night.

Slowly making sure than Remy was watching Him, Angel changed his face into Game face, letting his demon side be shown. His dark brown eyes became golden and ridges over his nose and brows were clearly visible in the dim light. A hint of his fangs peeked through his lips now thinner and tight and he waited for the fear, the disgust… anything, but not the strange stoicism. Nor a whiff of a fear in the boys scent, not a drawn in breath. Nothing but stillness.

"I am a vampire. I was turned almost 250 years ago. I was called Angelus, the Scourge of Europe and I killed hundreds of people and made the kills a form of art. I created three Childer during that time. Only one has survived to these days. About a hundred years ago I killed a young Gypsy girl and was cursed with a soul. Since then I have to live with the guilt and grief for the things I did. I am not a nice man Remy… I am a very, very dangerous creature…" Angel said in a grave tone, letting the boy see his true nature.

There was a long, very long silence when Angel turned back into his human face and watched Remy smoke, his body seemingly relaxed and vulnerable.

Finally, the cigarette had burned out and Remy stopped, looking at him through the dark glasses that hadn't slipped throughout their whole previous coupling.

"Well… you're not the only one with secrets here, Cher." He said, calmly reaching to his glasses and taking them off.

Angel noticed the long lashes covering the eyes and couldn't stop himself from staring at the shadows cast by the ridiculously long eyelashes for a moment.

Then Remy looked up, straight into his eyes and Angel sucked in a breath, when the burning red on black eyes became clearly visible. 

Demon eyes… in a body that smelled only human.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

"So… who are you?" 

"Human… or a mutant better. There are lots of people like me, with a so called x-gene. Basically we're one step further in the evolutionary chain than the rest of world's population"

Angel felt his curiosity stir.

"And does it mean more than a change in your looks?"

Remy grinned at him and flicked the butt of his cigarette into the air where it exploded with a small pop.

"Can blow t'ings up." As always, Remy didn't mention his empathy…

Angel stared at the ashes of the cigarette for a moment and then asked," Is there a limit…?"

Remy smiled a little, dangerous smile.

"Haven't found it yet Cher…and believe me, I tried."

Angel grinned in answer, for the first time realizing that he had met his equal, not some young, innocent boy.

Remy watched as Angel stood up and shucked the rest of his clothing off. They were both naked now and Remy couldn't stop staring at the beautifully muscled, powerful body. When Angel turned, Remy saw his tattoo for the first time. Big griffin like shape on his shoulder blade. He watched the muscles in his back flex and move under the incredibly pale skin, watched the big frame move with grace that was hard to achieve for humans and felt the stirrings in his cock again.

He sat in the same place and lit another cigarette, waiting for Angel to return from wherever he went and thinking about this strange development.

A Vampire.

Undead creature.

In New Orleans, he was taught to think that undead creature existed and were mindless, cruel tools of Death. Plain evil, no gray places.

But Angel was different. A vampire cursed with a soul. Such a burden of guilt and nightmares… This Remy could easily understand. He had his own share of guilt, he also had lives on his conscience, his stupidity and blindness caused him to lead a group of murderers into the Tunnels and then… then he witnessed a massacre.

So he guessed that he and Angel made good company.

Both guilty, both lonely… and both damned.

Angel returned from the kitchen clean, with a wet cloth in his hand and paused looking at Remy still sitting slumped under the wall.

His long limbs were relaxed and his hair mussed, falling on his shoulders in silky waves. But what caught his gaze were the incredible, red on black eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness, just like the tip of his cigarette. He was so beautiful. All sleek, sharp lines and sensuality literally oozing out of him. There was no question that Remy loved sex in all its forms and intensities. 

Catching the Cajun's gaze, he made his way to him, walking slowly and flexing his muscles just this little bit more, showing off for him. It was… strange to feel like that, alive and aroused and… free. This was what Remy gave him, acceptance, freedom to be himself without anyone waiting for him to turn evil. Maybe having sex with a stranger wasn't the most intelligent way of actually keeping his soul, but a stranger couldn't give him perfect happiness, could he?

He stopped in front of the red-haired man and let the corner of his mouth twist a little, making himself look more dangerous. The alien red on black eyes regarded him for a long while, before Remy smiled, obviously starting the game anew.

With a small smile and eyes still fixed on Angel's pale, powerful body, Remy slowly moved his legs spreading them and waiting for Angel's move. The vampire growled lightly in his chest and dropped to his knees between Remy's legs. Never changing his gaze, he pressed the wet, cold cloth to the hard stomach covered in sticky, drying come.

Remy jerked when the freezing, wet towel touched his skin and hissed, almost crushing the cigarette he held in hand. Angel only smiled at him, and proceeded to clean his skin, leaving cold, clean and moist skin that seemed so incredibly sensitive in its wake. 

Playing his role, Remy stayed motionless, pretending to be nonplused by the sensuous touch and the naked, powerful body kneeling between his legs and smoked slowly, neither of them commenting on the hardening shaft, just inches from the strong wrist of his dark lover.

Angel watched the Cajun as he carefully continued his task. When it was done, he moved the cloth lower, thankful that his lack of body heat didn't warm the towel and pressed it to the already hardening cock of his lover, mimicking a long, wet lick. He watched, fascinated as Remy's eyes widened and he hissed sharply, throwing his head back and exposing his long neck to the vampire in an unconscious invitation. 

Angel covered the now rigid cock with the cold cloth and then closed his fist around it and started slow, hard strokes pulling the foreskin up and down in measured movements, cherishing the fluttering of Remy's eyelashes and the scent of lust that suddenly filled the air.

"Oui… more…"

Finally he leaned closer, using his free arm to support his weight. He pressed his hand to the wall, inches from Remy's face and waited.

Remy opened his eyes, desperate for more stimulation, for more contact from his skilled lover. Angel wasn't actually touching him anywhere. The only place where their bodies connected was his cock, and it was surrounded by a wet, cold towel. Even now Angel hovered just mere millimeters from his lips, however he didn't do anything to actually touch him, which was driving him insane. 

"Angel…"

Angel felt the body underneath him tense, he could almost smell the impending orgasm and lessened the friction, never breaking the gaze and then let his face change. Slowly the ridges became more and more visible on his face, his brown eyes changed into swirling, living gold and his fangs lengthened. 

Remy was watching the change with wide, unfocused eyes, all the while his body strained into Angels touch. He never averted his eyes, never gave a sign of disgust… just this calm fascination. 

Angel felt himself go impossibly hard when Remy suddenly moved. Carefully, as if afraid to hurt him, the red-haired man brought his hand to the ridges and slowly traced them, the pads of his fingertips barely touching Angels skin and causing him to shiver with emotion that was better left unknown.

"Want you… inside…" Murmured Remy, before leaning closer and finally bringing their lips together. 

Whatever Angel expected from that kiss, it wasn't the purposeful, slow exploration of his mouth, each and every contour was licked and tasted, his fangs were traced and memorized… He felt Remy's hand slide lower on his arms, then trace the rigid muscles on his sides and then slowly trace them to his back, communicating with touch all his admiration of Angel's form. Remy was first lover that had made Angel feel so erotic and so perfect, never using words. The soft, skilled, yet incredibly delicate touch told him everything about Remy's feelings. And although it was Remy who submitted, Angel knew that it was the Cajun who held the power here.

When Remy suddenly pressed his tongue to one of his fags, Angel actually whimpered and then growled loudly when he tasted the first droplets of blood on his tongue. His hand stopped its movement while they kissed; sharing blood and passion. Never had he met a person that was able to accept him so fast and so unconditionally.

He was jerked from his trance when he felt Remy press something into his hand. He broke the kiss and looked at the small tube in his hand.

Human body. Fragile…

Taking a deep, unnecessary breath he nodded and before Remy had the time to react, gripped his hips and pulled him down, so that the Cajun was lying flat on his back, his long legs splayed wide for Angel.

Angel looked at the incredible body, exposed for him and felt a thrill of desire shoot through him. Never breaking the eye contact, in a silence that both of them understood perfectly, Angel opened the tube and squirted some of the cool gel on his fingers. He couldn't wait long. He could almost feel his control slipping from him, the desire, the pure need trying to overwhelm him.

As gently a he could in the frantic state he was in, Angel brought his fingers to the small, puckered opening and massaged the cool gel into it for a moment, but the need to be inside, to feel the warmth, the heat; was incapacitating. Only a human, living being could generate so much heat... and heat was something he craved desperately. As if when his body was warm, his soul could be also…

He pushed two fingers in at once, slowly but unforgiving and Remy gasped sharply, arching his body from the floor into a graceful bow. Angel growled at the tight, strong grip on his fingers and the warmth of that passage. 

His hands were big and he knew that two fingers were probably too much for a start, but he couldn't wait. He watched, fascinated at the muscle stretched around his digits, as Remy's muscles flexed and moved. Angel listened to the irregular, sharp intake of breath and quiet half begging half denying moans and whimpers that left that sensuous mouth. 

He started pushing his fingers in and out, wiggling them to find that special swelling inside the tight, welcoming channel and when he hit it, Remy bucked under him, almost dislodging his fingers. It'd been such a long time since he'd had such a responsive lover. Letting his demon to the fore, Angel closed his free hand around the base of Remy's cock, squeezing it tight so that the Cajun wouldn't be able to come no matter what and then found that swelling again.

Without taking his eyes from Remy's face, he pressed and stroked and pressed even harder into the prostate, tormenting it with strokes that had no gentleness in it. Remy's whole body came to life. He shouted something unintelligible in that dialect of his and bucked wildly, his head thrashing from side to side, mouth open and panting and eyes absolutely unfocused. 

Angel watched the undulating body, his Game face on and pressed with renewed power, keeping Remy on the very edge of excoriating pain and mind numbing ecstasy, stroking and pressing and pushing at the rapidly swelling gland inside the snug channel. He listened to the half coherent pleas to stop and to go on and watched the cock that jerked and tried in vain to shoot it's load, Angel's hand around the base effectively stopping Remy from coming. 

Finally he stopped, withdrawing his fingers and covering his rigid shaft in some lube, not really thinking about what he was doing, his full attention on the incredible, flushed creature on the floor, panting and still writhing, pulling him closer and raking his fingernails over Angel's shoulders; drawing blood.

Angel took hold of the pale, long thighs and pressed himself into the impossibly tight opening in one hard, yet smooth movement, his own shout covering the wail that left the Cajun's lips when his thick cock was sheathed fully inside him. 

He wanted to stop, to savor the feeling, the incredible warmth, the sheer heat around him. Remy was like a furnace, hot, living and full of passion. He could feel his passion in the scent of his flushed skin, he could see it in the frantic pulsing on his neck and he knew it by the way Remy's inner walls pulsed around his cool penis.

He wanted to wait, to savor the feeling, to give Remy time to get used to the sudden invasion, but the decision wasn't his this time. 

Finally, breaking the illusion of submission Remy twisted his spine in a way that Angel was sure, no human could and flipped them both easily so that Angel was on his back and Remy was straddling him. 

Before he had the time to take in the situation, Remy leaned closer and pressed his lips to Angel's, kissing him, sharing the last droplets of blood from his cut tongue with the vampire and moving his hips in a sharp, frantic way, driving Angel's cock still deeper inside. 

Angel couldn't remember anything after that, except for the overwhelming, burning pleasure that shot through him with every twist and every move of the agile body over him and the aggressive, skilled tongue inside his mouth telling him wordlessly that it was good, that it was what the Cajun had wanted. 

They both came, almost at the same time. Remy suddenly jerked and his whole body stiffened when his come shot from his purpled, angry cock and splashed on Angel's chest, while his inner walls were squeezing him tightly and massaging, pulling him over the edge. He gave one last, frantic thrust, keeping Remy by his hips so hard that he was sure to leave bruises and emptied himself into his lover's body, splashing his aggravated channel with his cool seed. 

"You okay?" Asked Angel after a while, when Remy refused to move a single muscle.

"Remy?"

"Non." Was the murmured answer against his skin.

Angel was silent for a while, just enjoying the feel of that hot body lying on top of him, letting the heat seep into his dead muscles. They were still connected, his soft penis already slipping slowly from the slick channel. He was loathe to loose that intimate connection, but Remy was no vampire, and he would be sore.

He petted the smooth back and tangled his hand into the rich, auburn hair.

"Go to bed?"

Remy murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'cul' but answered anyway:

"M' good 'ere" He was sleepy and happy, and his accent got thicker. Angel found he liked that.

"Come on, let's get to bed" Angel said, forcing Remy to wake up and stand. The Cajun wobbled a bit, his knees weaker that he expected and they both laughed.

"We look like a pair of drunks."

"Now Cher… but what a cute pair!"

Giggling like high school girls, they climbed the stairs to Angel's bedroom. At the sight of the incredibly large bed, covered in black, silk sheets Remy gave a sigh of admiration and immediately tumbled on it, stretching like a sated cat on his belly and burrowing his face in the silk that smelled of Angel. 

Angel watched Remy with a little smile on his face. It was such a simple gesture but it spoke of trust, because Angel had the feeling that the Cajun rarely turned his back to somebody. 

He watched the lithe, beautiful figure lie on his bed and felt a surge of possessiveness. He wanted to take Remy again, his vampire stamina already making his cock hard, even though he just came. He wanted to mark Remy, taste him… posses him completely. 

Those thoughts were dangerous, but it was so hard to think rationally when he could smell his come on his skin!

He laid beside Remy, pulling the covers off of him. The sleepy boy only murmured something, but didn't move when Angel started stroking his naked back, noticing the scars for the first time.

God, there were dozens of them. Old and new; thin, barely visible white lines and wide, irregular marks that were obviously from claws. There were also small little dots that were obviously from a bullet.

Angel wondered just what life had Remy been living to have his young body covered in so many scars. His back, sides and legs were a testimony of a dangerous life, full of pain and blood. 

Maybe they were a better pair than he ever expected. 

His hands roamed lower to the place that still fascinated him, that smelled of him the most. Gently, so he would not wake Remy too much, he parted the muscular cheeks looking at the aggravated, lightly swollen, pink pucker that smelled of Remy and his come. Angel could see the fluid leak slowly from Remy and it made him feel strangely possessive. The Cajun was his now, marked with his scent on the inside and out. 

He bent lower and licked over the aggravated muscle wanting to taste himself on his lover. When his cool tongue touched the surprisingly hot flesh, Remy gave a soft sound of pleasure. 

When Angel pressed his tongue shallowly inside, his lover's body tensed and he heard murmured:

"Arrete." 

He didn't stop, just shifted so that Remy could feel his renewed erection pressing to his leg.

"S'il te plait… hurts" Came the weak plea. But despite his words, Remy rocked his hips into the questing tongue.

Angel was once again reminded that Remy was a human being, not a vampire with extraordinarily fast regeneration abilities.

Grateful that the boy wasn't looking at him, Angel brought one finger to his mouth and slipping into the Game face, he quickly cut a deep wound in it using his fangs. One thing that not many knew, was that vampire blood could heal. It was a feature that only old and powerful vampires had and he was both. It proved to be extremely useful in keeping his victims alive for much longer than anyone could expect. 

Slowly, not listening to the half-hearted objections from Remy, he pushed his finger inside the aggravated channel, coating it with his blood. Still half asleep, Remy only sighed in relief when the aggravation was eased and the pain almost vanished.

Remy had thought that he couldn't be aroused again, so soon after his second orgasm that night, but the thought of having Angel inside him, filling him, stretching him to the limits, was appealing to him and he rocked onto the invading finger, letting Angel know that he had nothing against another penetration.

"Again?" Angel whispered, mere millimeters from his ear and Remy shivered.

"Oui."

Quickly and quietly, this time without the urgent need that drove them before, Angel spooned him and pulled his one leg outwards, opening him. 

Remy sighed and relaxed, feeling the hard, wet head of Angels cock at his abused entrance again and pressed back, signaling his willingness. Still he couldn't stop a sharp intake of breath when the widest part of the head pushed past the tight ring of muscles, stretching him.

Angel was petting him softly, stroking the whole length of his flank, from his knee to his neck, while his other hand was massaging his stomach lightly, helping him relax into the invasion. The hard shaft felt so incredibly big inside him. It stretched him to the very limits of pleasure, threatening to become pain at any given moment.

Remy was almost sobbing from the intensity of sensation when Angel slowly pushed all the way in, sheathing himself so deep inside, that he wasn't sure he could ever separate from him. 

He was tired, sated from the previous rounds of sex and his emotional barriers were low, so when Angel started slowly rocking back and forth, pressing his thick erection in and out, hitting his abused prostate every single time, Remy felt himself start to lose control of his empathy.

He became more aware of Angel's emotions than he would have liked. He felt the admiration and desire that seemed to pour from his dark lover, and then his gift started to reach deeper as Angel's thrusts became faster and more desperate, Remy became aware of all the dangerous shades of his desire. The nearly obsessive possessiveness, the lust for his blood… the need so strong it was painful to even look at it and before he had the time to think rationally about what he was doing, barely aware that his body responded to the stimulation, he reached behind himself and pulled Angel's head to his neck.

He felt Angel still behind him, each muscle rigid and his attention focused only on Remy.

"Drink… drink from me…" He whispered pressing Angel's face closer to his neck, throwing his own head back and exposing his vulnerable throat to him. 

He heard a painful whimper from Angel, a sound so broken and full of pain that Remy felt his own heart constrict and then he felt it. Small, so light that he barely felt it; the press of fangs on his skin and then they cut into him and he knew he was bleeding, but he couldn't feel any pain, only the strangely pleasurable lightheadedness. 

Angel's whole body reverberated with pleasure, the soft hungry little noises that he was making while drinking Remy's blood only made the Cajun more aroused. His whole attention focused only on two spots. On Angel's cock so deep inside him, pressing deeper and deeper with every thrust and his fangs in his neck, bringing him pleasure that he'd never dreamed of. His mental shields collapsed altogether and he felt the deep, buried pain in Angel, so strong so alive that he felt tears in his eyes and unconsciously started projecting his own emotions to him, trying to soothe and heal the pain and guilt he'd left in Angel.

Remy didn't even notice that his body convulsed in a third, much weaker orgasm that night and that Angel stopped drinking his blood, only licking at the wound and spilling his seed again, so deep inside Remy that it was bound to leak from him all the next day.

The only thing that Remy was aware of was the need to soothe the pain, to give comfort and pleasure… to make Angel happy, so he projected all that Angel made him feel, the desire, the admiration, the incredible happiness at finding somebody that respected him. Remy couldn't remember when he last knew someone that actually respected him…

He did everything that was possible to make Angel, at that moment at least, feel perfectly happy… 

 

* * *  
Translations:

Cul - ass  
Arrete - stop   
S'il te plait - please

* * *

The bar was small and actually surprisingly clean. Logan would have preferred a small, dirty hole with cheap booze and lots of smoke. Such places granted anonymity. No one would dare approach him or even look at him. These places brought shame on the whole bar concept. Clean, with fresh air, polished tables, well lit- for fuck's sake and with a 'nice' bartender. 

Logan wanted only quiet and privacy to drink himself stupid. It had been four weeks, four weeks since he'd returned to mansion from a routine mission and found Jean and Scott sitting in the main room, waiting for him with grim faces. The way Scott smelled of carefully hidden alcohol and grief, and the way Jean literally reeked of sadness, told him more than any words could. He remembered the way he turned, not even stopping to greet them, to listen to them and dashed the stairs, feeling his heart beat erratically while he ran to the infirmary.

When he reached the door he knew. He didn't even need to go in and jerk the curtain back to know that the bed was empty.

Remy was gone. 

Later, when they managed to calm him down from the grief induced rage, they spoke to him, slowly, gently telling him that no, Remy wasn't dead. He had awakened when the Mansion was empty and obviously Remy had left , never to return again.

They showed him the tapes from the security cameras.

Remy, weak and pale had to almost crawl to one of Scott's cars parked in the garage. But that wasn't the worst.

What shocked them into silence was his face, when he looked at the building that he'd spent the last years in.

Hatred.

Pain.

Betrayal.

There was no question that Remy was gone from them, forever.

Now, four weeks later he was sitting here, in this disturbingly clean bar and was trying to drown his sorrows in a bottle, but his healing factor was doing good job to deny him even that small reprieve. 

He never thought that if Remy ever woke up from his coma, he would leave him. After those strange vision/dreams in which Remy came to him Logan started really believing that he loved him, that the Cajun wouldn't leave him… how stupid of him.

He knew that the nights when Remy came to him, smelling of cinnamon and hot skin, with gentle loving hands were real. He could smell Remy's scent on his sheets for days after. But when Remy came to him, Logan was never able to see his reflection. Like a ghost, solid only for Logan's touch, Remy stayed strictly in his private sphere. 

Logan never said just why he was so obsessed with finding Remy, with bringing him back. When he started his search, he was almost sure that the dreams would stop. He suspected that while Remy was in coma, part of his psyche formed itself into a solid shape; an astral projection and came to him. Now when he was awake, he doubted that Remy would visit him like that again.

He was wrong. A week after Remy's disappearance the visits were resumed. This time he saw the Cajun almost every night, could touch him, speak to him… make love to him… but never, ever did the thief talk to him. Not during those thirteen months in a coma, nor now. 

He got Jean to look for him with Cerebro, to no avail. He tried tracking the Cajun with every skill, every contact he could call upon and nothing. The thief had disappeared into thin air. No one saw him, no one heard anything of him.

It was as if he was dead and buried. 

Logan drank another shot of whiskey as if it was water and poured himself another. It was his third bottle and still, he was all too aware of everything that happened during those last weeks for his liking. 

He wanted to find Remy so desperately… to tell him what he felt, to tell him that he was afraid too, and that he wanted to try… try to love him. 

Logan ignored the looks other patrons gave him, obviously staying clear of the feral, heavily muscled man. And good, his temper was short-lived these days and he was all too fond of a hard fight. 

His back was to the door and he didn't notice who was entering the bar until the unusual silence hit him. He turned around the same moment he smelled her.

Jean.

Dressed in black pants so tight they looked as if they were painted on and an equally tight, red tee. Her shock of red hair fell loosely to the small of her back, making her look even more stunning than usual. 

He noticed other men in the bar puff their chests and stare with mouths open. It would have even been funny, if he hadn't felt so fucked up right now.

Her gaze, however, never left him. Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, she walked up to him and then stopped beside his table, taking in his unshaven, drunken form. 

Damn, he didn't like to look like a pig when she was around.

"Logan." she sighed.

He grimaced at the bitter sound of disappointment in her voice. He fixed his stare on the half empty bottle and refused to acknowledge her at all. 

With another sigh, Jean folded her graceful, sexy self into the seat opposite him and waited. 

He expected her to talk, to babble some nonsense about coming back or letting go of Remy, to let him live his own life like all the others had done.

When Chuck had started his talk, Logan only stared at him in silent disbelief and then very clearly and very distinctly told him to fuck off, because he didn't know shit about Remy. 

When Ro came to him, her eyes not exactly dry and asked him to let go, he only listened, not having the heart to say that she had lost her rights to Remy after the Antarctica fiasco.

When Scott came to him, Logan was ready to start a fight or at least to tear something, to make it bleed just like his heart did. But he couldn't. He remembered too many late nights when he could smell Scott in the kitchen, drinking scotch and feeling so Goddamn miserable and guilty. Fuck, the man was his own worst judge. He wasn't even there when the tragedy happened, but he felt more responsible than that bitch that left him alone in that warehouse.

He couldn't beat Scott up, because it was what Scott wanted, to be punished for something he didn't do. So they ended up drinking together, not talking but just… being there. For each other. 

He actually expected Jean to finish the endless procession of people wishing to help him, to remedy the situation. But, surprisingly, she didn't come. Not like that anyway.

He actually didn't remember much from that last night in the Mansion, before he left to look for Remy, but he was sure that she was there with him at some point. Because he could smell her scent all over his room. 

In flashbacks, he could remember her voice, gentle and soothing, steady and hands carefully stroking his hair while he thrashed in nightmares, half feral, half drunk out of his mind, unable to stop the animalistic cries and snarls after what he had lost, never really having. 

He knew that in those nightmares, he tended to hurt himself, the claws popping out time and time again, slicing through his own flesh and everything around. But the next morning when he woke up, there was no blood on his skin, no torn sheets and broken furniture. Only her scent in the air. Calm, beautiful and comforting. 

She must have used her telekinesis to keep him from thrashing, and must have spent hours just talking to him, trying to ease him from the drink-induced hell of his dreams. 

And she never spoke a word about it to him; just came to the front door when he was leaving, her face tired and drawn from the lack of sleep and worry and hugged him, making him promise that if he needed help, he would call. 

He never did.

"You were hard to find." She broke the tense silence.

Logan drank another shot and refilled, never looking up at her. 

"Why are you here, Red?" His voice was hoarse and he grimaced at the raw pain that it reflected. 

She sighed again and looked around the bar, noticing that they were the center of attention. He, feral, dark, drinking for hours straight and she, such a contrast to Logan. Lithe, sexy and open. 

"You didn't call."

Logan refused to answer and drowned another shot, when he raised his hand to refill the glass, Jean put her hand on his arm to stop him. There was no force in her grip at all, just the warmth of her body and, somehow, it had more effect than anything else.

He couldn't remember the last time somebody touched him, really touched him in flesh and body, sharing his body heat. 

"What are you doing here Jean?" He asked again, laying his hands flat on the table. 

"Why?" She asked.

"Why are you so obsessed?" 

It was a blunt question, no gentleness in her now, only fierce intelligence and knowledge that came to her with the Phoenix.

And surprisingly, it felt right to answer her, good to let somebody know.

"I can't let go of him Red, because he never let go of me."

At her questioning look he told her. At first in short, dry words and then, before he had the time to realize the whole story poured out of him. The months when he watched Remy's unmoving figure on the bed and nights when he could actually touch him, feel him, smell him days afterward. 

When he finally finished talking, the bar was almost empty. When he looked at his watch he realized that he had been talking for two hours and she just sat there, looking at him calmly, never laughing nor dismissing his feelings. 

There was silence, her eyes unreadable and her scent carrying more emotions than he was able to distinguish.   
"Do you believe me? It wasn't a dream Jean… it was real." Logan hated how his voice became hoarse and he had to croak the words, his throat so tight it was painful to speak at all. 

"I always suspected that there was more to Remy's abilities than he ever admitted. The way he was always aware of other people… his sensitivity to certain things… and of course his impenetrable mental shields. He had to have some mental abilities that he just doesn't know of." 

"A telepath?"

Jean shook her head.

"No. This I would have sensed. Or the Professor. I think… maybe something different, more subtle."

"What?"

She only shook her head.

"So what are you going to do now? Now that you know?" He asked, feeling miserable and angry, and most of all, so very lonely.

"I am going to help you find him."

"How?" He didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on his glass. Wolverine did not ask for help. But now, he really felt like begging. He would have done anything to find Remy. Anything.

"Does he still come to you?"

"Every night."

There was short pause and then:

"I'll stay… maybe if he comes I will be ale to sense something?"

Logan still didn't look up, nor did he acknowledge the offer of help, but he stretched his arm over the table and put his hand on hers for a brief moment, before standing up.

"Come on Red, they are closing"

Again, she kept quiet, only stood and followed him out of the bar into the cool, night air.

 

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

He woke up to pain.

Sharp, overwhelming, all consuming agony that set him on fire. He wasn't even aware of the seizures that rocked his body until his face connected with the wooden floor of his bedroom. 

Angel wanted to scream, to tear at something, to do anything- only to lessen the unholy burn in his chest. But the pain was too strong for him to even utter a word. His throat was constricted and dry; his lungs labored trying to draw in unneeded breath.

Agony.

It was so all-consuming that his vision became gray and blurry and he wanted something, anything to ease it! But he wasn't capable of a single move, his body spasming and jerking as if he was some kind of puppet whose ties were being cruelly yanked.

And there was a strange, scary familiarity in this pain. Like he'd known it before… but thinking rationally was too hard when he felt as if somebody was pushing a red-hot fist into his chest and was doing their best to drag his insides out. 

Suddenly he felt warm, strong arms around him and a voice… an insistent voice with an edge of fear in it, and through his painful haze the scent of fear ticked his nose making his body respond to the age-old aphrodisiac. And dimly, he was aware that it was wrong, that he shouldn't react like this but… he couldn't remember why… 

"What's going on…?"

Angel was dimly aware of the person holding him, restraining his movements so that he wouldn't hurt himself. He should know him… but thinking was too hard right now. There was only pain; burning that drove him mad.

"How can I help you? Angel…! Angel can you hear me?"

A whiff of scent, stronger than ever before ticked his nose. Come, sweat, blood and cinnamon and he growled, his face rippling from Game face back to human and in a brief flash of clarity, he understood why the pain seemed so incredibly familiar.

He remembered it suddenly, a quiet night… Buffy with him for the first time and then the pain… that broke the curse.

He felt the same pain when the curse was broken and he lost his soul reverting into a psychotic demon again.

But the pain was too strong, too maddening to hold even that thought and he felt his control slipping…

* * *

Remy hissed when he was flung from his dark-haired lover and hit the wall with an audible thud. 

With a speed that belied the laws of nature Angel got up and was at him before Remy had the time to even blink. Angel's face was ridged but that didn't scare Remy, he had seen mutants much uglier. No, what made him shiver was the sheer, pain in his lover's eyes, that were looking at him now with pure madness.

He yelped, surprised at the inhuman strength with which the heavier man grabbed him by his shoulders and lifted, until his feet were dangling in the air. Angel's fangs were fully extended and it didn't take a telepath to know what he was going to do.

Remy recalled what Angel had hinted about him being cursed with soul. He never asked if this was a permanent situation or if the curse had a clause or something?

When he was jerked closer and could actually feel the fangs scrape at his skin, he made to fight Angel off, but Angel was like a solid rock and no punching, no kicking made Angel loosen his grip. So Remy did the only thing that guaranteed him success, without actually killing the vampire. 

He put his hands to Angel's chest just when he wanted to bite and charged. He could feel his energy seep shallowly into Angel's skin and then explode with enough force to throw them apart.

Not looking at the stunned vampire, Remy scrambled to his feet and made use of his own, not inconsiderable speed, and dashed out of the bedroom.

He needed some time to think and to remember what exactly Angel said about his curse.

* * *

What started like a small glow, became an insufferably intense, white hot light that jerked Wesley awake. He opened his eyes, not really understanding why his room was so bright and laid there for a minute, listening to the quiet of his apartment and trying to will himself to think clearly.

When his brain finally kick-started, he bolted from the bed as if it was on fire.

"Oh my God, please… no…"

Over a year ago, Angel Investigations had helped an actress with a stalker. She saw what Angel really was and in her vain, idiotic brain of hers thought that becoming a vampire would be a way to preserve her beauty and stay famous and desired. So she drugged Angel, who became dangerously close to perfect happiness, caused by the drug, and he was briefly Angelus again. The effects lasted only until the drug was out of his system, but Wesley decided that he should take some precautions and found a spell, a warning system of sorts. 

Should the curse be broken he was to be signaled by a bright, sudden light in his home. This way he had the time to prepare himself. To defend his life and… to kill Angel… or Angelus rather.

As quickly as possible he loaded his crossbow, took some stakes and Holy Water and headed out. Wesley considered calling Cordelia, but decided against it. She had enough problems with her visions without him throwing Angelus at her.

He was aware that he swore to kill Angelus, should he come back again, but it wouldn't be easy. Yes the creature was evil, cruel and gleeful, but it still would carry the face of his friend.

Maybe they weren't as close as they had been, maybe there was a lot of bad blood between them, but killing Angelus would be like killing Angel. There was no doubt in his mind that he would do as he promised, dusting Angelus, but he was sure, that it would haunt his dreams forever. 

Kick-starting his bike, Wes realized that he was praying. Praying that it was only a false alarm, that there would be a simple explanation to it… maybe a drug? Maybe some accident that only set the spell up? 

Wesley would face anything if only it would mean that Angel was safe and sound. But that didn't seem to be the case tonight.

It was nearing dawn when he finally pulled in front of the Hyperion. The old hotel was as large and quiet as always, but that wasn't what sent chills down Wesley's back.

There, in front of the old building were two vehicles. Angel's Plymouth and a sleek, expensive looking Japanese motorbike. 

Angel wasn't alone and that meant the alarm wasn't false. Wesley closed his eyes for a minute, to center himself before pulling his crossbow out and heading towards the entrance.

He would keep his word to the vampire he called his friend. 

* * *

She couldn't stand the darkness. Ever since she'd been buried alive in that god- forsaken construction site, smothered beneath those already dead , she could not stand to be in the dark.

With her heart beating frantically, she stumbled out of bed, towards the window and jerked the curtains open. She could have lit a lamp, but she learned that the artificial light never helped. She needed to see the stars, the moon or the sun to be able to chase the fear away. 

She leant her head on the cold glass, her eyes open but unseeing and tried to regain control over herself. She hated to be afraid. But it was always hard to calm down, with so many eyes watching her. 

When her fear subsided, white hot rage took over her. She jerked the door to the other room open and wasn't really surprised to find the other woman sitting on the sofa and reading a book. 

"Lilah!" She called with anger in her voice, not even bothering to hide her fury "What the hell where you thinking, pulling the curtains closed!"

The woman that was supposed to help her move to Los Angeles looked up surprised. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn't given a chance to do so.

"I have told you to never, under any circumstances cover the windows like this! You promised! And I know that I left them open before I went to sleep!" Her voice became angrier by the minute.

Lilah looked at the young, pale and obviously panicked woman and decided that there was no danger. After all, she needed to make sure that they hadn't made a mistake in bringing her to Los Angeles. 

"Calm down Rush, you are hysterical…"

Lilah trailed off when she saw the look on the younger woman's face change. From panicked and vulnerable to calm and a little bit cruel.

"You think you are so smart Ms. Lawyer? You think that you can bring me here, feed me lies and you expect me to not catch up?" There was a sneer to the younger woman's voice that made Lilah feel on edge.

"I don't know what you mean, I have never lied to you Rush…"

"ENOUGH!" The sound of the scream didn't silence Lilah, but the sudden explosion of everything made of glass in the room did. 

Vases, glasses and even TV screen suddenly exploded with a loud crush, sending millions of shards in the air, but to Lilah's astounded gaze, they never fell to the floor but only started floating in the air, making circles around the two of them.  
"I warned you Lilah that I may look like a twenty two year old girl, I may even be of that age, but I know more about death than you or you employees could ever know." Her words were low and delivered in a cold, calculated hiss.

Rush pulled the astonishing mass of black hair back from her face, exposing her lightly glowing, violet eyes. Her eyes flickered to something behind Lilah.

"Did it give you pleasure see me panic because of a simple dark room Lilah? Well… there is this saying that payback is a bitch, isn't there?"

Suddenly the shards of glass fell to the floor and the room fell silent. Rush's violet eyes glowed faintly for a second and then faded to a normal, human look.

"How long ago it was Lilah? Six? No… seven years ago." Rush watched with satisfaction as the red-headed lawyer paled significantly "Yes Lilah, I know your secret. It was a dark night. There was mist everywhere and you could barely see the road…"

Lilah started to shake, but couldn't take her eyes from the woman in front of her.

"He wanted you to stay home… he was afraid that something would happen, but you didn't listen, did you Lilah? No, you had to go to that party and drink when you knew you shouldn't have. When he begged you to stop, you laughed at him and went out to get some more booze from your so-called friends. When he finally did manage to drag you out of that party you refused to give him the keys. No, you had to jump into your car and drive off with the squealing tires and laughter on your lips. You wanted to show him just how good you were…" Rush paused seeing the wide open eyes of the red-haired woman and her shaking body "Tell me Lilah, how does it feel to kill your child?" 

The older woman let out a strangled sob but Rush didn't stop. She couldn't, not when she could see a small boy sitting next to the lawyer, his eyes hollow and his face empty.

Being able to see death and hear those who passed away in a cruel way changed Rush, gave her unimaginable pain, but also made her stronger, and that pitiful excuse of a lawyer thought she could play mind games with her? By reminding her of the terror that brought her this ability? Well, she would have to learn then.

"After the accident, when they had to remove the dead embryo from your body, did you ask the doctors to check what sex it was?" Seeing that the older woman was too shocked to speak, Rush looked again at the pale form with hollow eyes and blue lips sitting next to Lilah and continued, unable to stop now, wanting to force her to feel at least a fragment of the agony she suffered day by day. "He would have been a boy. With black, curly hair and large, brown eyes. A beautiful child… And you know what is ironic here? He would have loved you no matter what you did. But you had to go to that party, you had to drink and take drugs… you just couldn't live without killing your child, could you Lilah? So… are you happy now?"

It was too much and the red-haired woman dashed out of the room, sobbing, with one hand firmly pressed to her mouth to stop screams that almost tore out of her heart.

Rush stared after her for a moment, blinking to get rid of the vision of the dead boy on the couch, and his dead, hollow eyes that bored into her.

"Don't look at me like that. She deserved it. Besides, I need a drink." She got up and found a bottle of vodka. She cursed the broken glasses and took a swallow directly from the bottle. 

She didn't even notice that she was standing barefooted on the broken glass, nor did she notice that there was not a cut on her body. All she could feel, were the many presences in the room; some human, but not all and when the potent liquid burned down her throat, Rush wondered just why the lawyers sent a woman that had so many violent deaths on her conscience. Surely, they knew she could sense it?

Something wasn't right. But she didn't come to L.A. because Wolfram and Hart offered her a deal.

Rush felt a warm, soothing touch on her neck and closed her eyes to the familiar, comforting presence. Most of the ghosts she saw, were the souls of victims that were murdered brutally, but sometimes, souls came to her that had already found their peace and they helped her, comforted her when the pressure got to be too much… they were the ones that were her light in the darkness of death and they needed her to be in L.A.

The question was, why?

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Remy watched the pink water drain slowly from the sink. His body hurt. His arm was just a hairsbreadth away from being broken in two places and the bone had to be severely bruised. 

But as hard as it'd been, he won.

Remy closed his eyes and kept his hand under the cold water for a little while, letting the cold seep into the cuts and ease the pain.

Angel was strong, his vampire power gave him an advantage, but Remy had fought things that were definitely more powerful. Besides, no matter how physically strong, Remy could always blow up the vampire. The only problem was that he didn't 'want' to, because he still could sense the goodness in Angel. 

There was the demon, the darkness that he sensed before. And it was overwhelming, dominating… but there also was something good in him. Confused and in pain, but still there.

Besides how could he kill a man he'd made love to so passionately just hours ago? How could he kill a man that made him feel desired and respected, when no one else ever wanted to?

He couldn't. So he did the next best thing. He didn't kill him… but he fought him with everything he had. A year ago… before he ended up in a coma after the last betrayal of his so called 'friends' he might have fallen to the might of the vampire. But he was that Remy no more. He was never going to bend his neck in the name of the greater good, he would never allow anybody to judge him again. 

Never.

So he fought and hurt Angel, damaging him enough so that he was able to shackle the unconscious, badly injured vampire to the bed. Now he needed to tend to his wounds and finally think about what happened. And how to help his new lover.

Once upon a time, he would have considered that Angel in his evil incarnation would be better killed, but not now. He understood the importance of second chances. No matter what others said, he would not let Angel be killed.

Now he was a different person. There was nothing he believed anymore, no one he really trusted. Remy became a bitter shadow of his former self, but at least he wasn't as naive as before. And maybe it was bad, maybe he couldn't find real happiness anymore, seeing only the hurt that people may cause him, but at least he was aware of the risks.

He'd grown up. Finally.

* * *

Wesley felt himself become even more terrified than before. 

When he entered the hotel, he wasn't surprised by the darkness, but the quiet did surprise him. Angelus, aside of being cruel and manic, was also a gleeful bastard that just loved to gloat about all the things he wanted to do. 

So the eerie silence of the place did nothing to reassure him. Checking his crossbow once again, Wesley started checking room after room with a grim determination. The office was empty, as well as the back room. But when he entered the main part of the lobby, he froze.

The place was trashed. The vases and furniture were broken, some dark smudges on the walls looked surprisingly like fire marks and… the scent of ozone and smoke. The place looked as if something had blown up and of course, the overwhelming scent of blood. There were drops of it on the walls, on the floor… and then a steady, wide smudge leading to the stairs. 

Wesley breathed a silent prayer for the unfortunate company of the vampire, guessing that whoever it was couldn't be alive after such a great loss of blood. Still it must have been a strong woman, to cause so much damage while fighting Angel. 

He wanted to get up, his stomach lurching at the very thought of what he might find in the main bedroom, but it was necessary. He started climbing the stairs when he heard a sound from the kitchen. 

He whirled around, his heart pounding a hundred times a minute and his breath quickening, but his hand was steady when he warily approached the kitchen. 

He pushed the door open and actually felt his jaw hit the floor in astonishment.

The only source of light in the room was a single flashbulb, the others obviously destroyed in the fight. There was water and other liquids spilled on the floor, the table was broken and lay crumbled on the floor. But what shocked Wesley the most was the figure standing in front of the sink, calmly washing his hands.

The man was young and… beautiful. It was the first word that popped into Wesley's mind. He was tall, taller than Wes. He was wearing only his tight, black jeans - bloodied and torn. The bare chest was tanned dark gold, no chest hair and all sleek muscles and tendons. 

He had shoulder length, now mussed hair, looking reddish in the artificial light. The stranger was wearing sunglasses, even in the middle of almost dark room and had bare feet.

There was something so incredibly sexual about this man, that Wesley felt himself shift, unsure how to react to the strange feelings that seeing this half naked man had caused.

It took Wes a moment to notice the bruises. The right arm was heavily bruised and already swollen, the marks quite evident to have been caused by a large hand and several cuts were also visible.

It suddenly hit him that THIS was the mysterious lover that Angel had brought to the Hotel… and that, he was still alive.

That meant…

Wesley was stopped from completing the thought when the stranger turned, exposing his handsome, now pale face to him and cocking his head lightly.

* * *

Remy waited for the other man to collect himself. He could sense his confusion and shock so clearly that it almost left a trace in his mouth. He felt his eyes travel the length of his body, more in the desperate attempt to understand what was happening than in a sexual manner, but he also knew when the man actually saw him. 

Remy always knew that his looks, his face and his body were a weapon. Not only in martial arts, but in life itself. People tended to underestimate him because of his lithe build and seemingly fragile frame and looks. Somehow, most people thought that if he looked good, he couldn't be dangerous. 

Mistake.

He deliberately stayed still for a little while longer, letting the man with the crossbow distract himself with his own thoughts, before slipping one of his playing cards in his hands and charging it, hiding the flash of light behind his body, then he turned to face the astonished man. 

"You goin' to shoot me wid dis?" He deliberately made his accent thicker. Another way to distract his opponent. He would have to concentrate on his words, to be able to actually understand them, which gave Remy more time to assess his situation.

Friend or foe?

* * *

Wesley lowered his crossbow slightly, not sure what was going on.

"Who are you? What happened here? Where is Angel?"

Remy regarded him with a strange, passive look hidden behind the sunglasses. It actually made Wes feel uncomfortable and he shifted his crossbow again.

"My name is Remy. Remy LeBeau."

 

Wesley was a little taken aback by the lack of accent, but responded before he really had the time to think.

"Wesley Wyndham-Price"

Remy nodded, recalling what Angel told him about his friend. He was supposed to kill Angel if he ever turned evil again. 

"I know why you came here. If you as much as look at Angel the wrong way, I will kill you." Remy stated calmly in an almost gentle voice, at the same time taking his shades off and letting the red on black eyes blaze with power for a brief second.

He watched in bitter pleasure as Wesley took an involuntary breath and almost stepped back.

Almost.

The man was stronger than he looked. 

"What are you?" Whispered the ex-Watcher, while poising his crossbow at Remy once again. 

"Put dat thing away. 'M not going to attack you, unless you threaten Angel."

Suddenly Wesley put two and two together.

"You know about the curse!"

Remy nodded at the Watcher and slowly drained the charge from the card and tucked it away with a move too fast and too subtle for the human to notice. 

"Angel told me about it."

"But… the curse had been broken! He is evil again… so how is it you are alive?"

Remy looked at the dark haired man with his red on black eyes feeling respect for the man that he didn't flinch or avoid his eyes. A brave man, that wasn't going to panic on him, no matter what.

"There is only one question. Do you want to help your friend or kill him?"

Wesley did not hesitate. Something in the aura of this young man told him to trust him.

"I want to help. Now tell me what happened?"

Remy nodded and started talking while bandaging his right hand, wincing at the pain. He was surprised to sense the man approach him, a first aid bag in his hand and start cleaning his wounds with a practiced ease, causing minimum pain.

Wesley concentrated on the feel of the silky, warm skin under his hands while he did something he'd gotten increasingly better at during the last few years- first aid. 

"I met Angel in the club, we both were already slightly drunk. He danced with me." Remy paused feeling Wesley's shock at his words.

"What?"

"Angel 'danced' with you?" 

"Oui"

Wesley only shook his head and resumed his bandaging. 

"He asked me to come with him. The homme looks great so I agreed. We end up here. He showed me his real face and told that he is a vampire cursed with a soul."

"You… ahm… had sex?" Asked Wesley carefully.

"Oui. Few times. Why is it important?"

Wesley furrowed his brow.

"So the… change didn't occur after you…" He trailed off, his English upbringing making him feel uncomfortable at discussing sex with a total stranger.

"Non. Angel was okay. Why does it matter?"

"The curse… the one that gave him his soul? It had a closure. Should Angel feel perfect happiness, the curse would be broken and he would became evil again"

"Merde!" Hissed Remy jerking his arm away and pacing few steps.

"So it's all my fault, non?"

"What do you mean?" asked Wesley carefully, still surprised that Angel hasn't changed after having sex.

"I am an empath Cher. I made him feel happy… perfectly happy…"

"Oh dear… so what happened after you came here and… well when did things change?"

"We fell asleep and I was woken up with screams. He was screaming and tearing at his chest as if something was burning him. I tried to help him, but he attacked me. Finally I wounded him and shackled him to the manacles near his bed."

"Angel is alive?!" Yelped Wes, shocked again.

"Oui." Answered the read haired Cajun calmly.

Wesley worked his jaw few times before actually speaking again.

"How did you manage that?"

Remy looked in the direction of the stairs.  
"I have seen and fought many things… and I do have the power to destroy him. But I couldn't. There is still goodness inside him. He is not a demon, not fully…" There was bitterness to Remy's voice.

He knew more about evil and demons that ever wanted to.

"I must gather some ingredients and I will perform the spell again, so that he will come back to himself…"

"Non!" Remy's voice was low and dangerous. "You will not perform any spell at him. You will not even come close to him."

"He can't stay like that. He needs help and the spell…"

"The spell made his existence lonely and miserable! You have no idea how much pain he is constantly in! I have felt it, tasted it… and will not let you curse him again with a soul that needs such a cruel price!"

"You have no idea what you are dealing with!"

Remy's eyes blazed with fire again and his voice dropped to a low, menacing hiss.

"I have just taken out a powerful vampire. Do you think a simple human would poise any hardship for me?"

Wesley froze for a barest second before lunging for his crossbow. But he wasn't fast enough. Remy's mutant speed and agility almost matched vampire one. He was between Wesley and his weapon in a blink of an eye.

The last thing Wesley saw was the blaze of red on black eyes before the darkness swallowed him.

* * *

Remy looked down at the tied, unconscious man and frowned. He needed to make a call.

After searching the trashed lobby, he decided to search the dark haired man and found a cell phone. But he had problems with dialing , his fingers were so bruised and swollen ,that it made it impossible to operate the small buttons.

Finally, using his left hand, Remy dialed the number that he had forced himself to memorize over two years ago. 

"Hello?" Asked hesitant female voice.

"'Allo Chere."

There was a surprised drawing of air and then a slow, calming exhale of breath.

"Remy." 

"You said that you owe me…" He started not sure how much he could press her if she refused to help.

There was a long silence on the other side. Just when Remy was going to say something, the voice came again.

"What do you need?"

Remy closed his eyes in relief. Thank gods she kept her word. He leaned his forehead on the cool wall and took a deep breath.

* * *

"…I'm in Los Angeles in an old Hotel… it's called The Hyperion. It's large and almost abandoned. You shouldn't have any troubles with finding it, it's…"

Rush listened to Remy's voice and went to the big window of her suite, pushing the curtains completely aside. 

She couldn't say she was really surprised.

"I'll be there soon.' She said and cut the connection, exhaling a long kept breath. There, in front of her hotel, probably two streets away stood a large, dark, old building with the name still visible even from this place.

Hotel Hyperion.

"Was that the reason you wanted me to come here, Doyle?" She asked turning to the presence behind her left shoulder. 

The man smiled at her, his green eyes looking so alive and his smile still warm, and nodded. 

He'd been with her for over three years now, his soul one of the most powerful around her. 

She looked into the darkness once again, watching the car lights pass by. Doyle was the only one that didn't really need her. All the souls that came to her were lost, in need of peace and calm. In exchange for that, they gave her their power and knowledge. 

But Doyle was blessed. He never needed her to grant him peace. He came to help her. Protect her… he came so that she could complete the mission that she was destined for.

Rush wondered if this was it.

But it was no time for idle musings. She had to pack and make sure that none of the lawyers would follow her. 

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Remy was staring at the unmoving vampire shackled to the bed. His pale, almost luminous skin made a stark contrast to the black silk sheets. The mutant let his gaze shift over the prone form, taking in the powerful muscles that reminded him so much of Logan. The terrible wound in his chest was already closed and healing. Angel could probably rival Logan in the speed of regenerating. 

He wasn't sure if he was doing right, not letting the Englishmen do what he promised to do. But there was something… something that called to him. The way Angel accepted him without a word of contempt., the way he looked into his eyes without a flinch.

He was the first man to make love to him and be able to look into his eyes… and look. Remy closed his eyes and remembered how Angel touched him with both gentleness and almost animalistic need. The way he kept their gazes locked while his hand burned a live fire onto his skin, causing pleasure and arousal that threatened to burst from within him.

Angel respected him, treated him as an equal. It was so strange and so wonderful to be with somebody that respected him.

He was jerked back from his musings by a wave of feral, primal and violent emotions that slammed into him, causing his mental shields to falter a little. Quickly, although with regret, Remy backed off from the room. The vampire would probably regain consciousness soon. He still didn't know what to do. When he called Rush she behaved strangely and said that she would be there 'soon'. 

But what did that mean?

Shaking off the bad thoughts and worries he went back downstairs, the Englishman was probably awake also. He hadn't hit him that hard… 

* * *

Wesley groaned as he came to. The pounding in his head was the only thing he was capable of concentrating on. Then the memories of the night's events slowly flooded his mind and he gasped again, cursing his own stupidity. How could he trust the stranger so easily as to lower his weapon? But there was something so… true… in the boy, that he let himself be fooled. No wonder the Council fired him. What kind of a Watcher he was if he couldn't even sense danger to his own person? A lousy one. 

It took him a minute, but he focused enough to see that he was sitting in one of the chairs that survived the fight and was tied to it quite efficiently. It seemed that the boy was no stranger to practical bondage.

One thing suddenly struck Wesley as odd. He wasn't afraid. Not really, not for himself. He was terrified about Angel, if he'd really turned into Angelus, how many people he would kill? While Angelus wasn't the world oldest nor the most powerful vampire- he was surely one of the fiercest, cruelest and most obsessed with turning Earth into a Hell dimension. With his quite extensive knowledge of ancient magic, he was, regretfully, the most probable candidate to open the door to Hell. 

"How's de head?" Asked the honey smooth, accented voice.

Wesley jerked, pulling at the bonds painfully. He didn't even hear the young man approach and with his Watcher training honed now by his work for Angel, that meant something. The kid moved like a ghost… or a vampire.

"Listen to me… Remy… this is very important. You don't know what you are doing, what you are risking. I am not talking about a victim or two. Not even a hundred. I am talking about millions of victims. If Angelus gets loose, he will destroy the world like you know it and create chaos and mayhem." Wesley was almost begging, desperate to make Remy understand just how dangerous what he was doing really was. 

Remy looked at his hands. Contrary to his posture, he did listen to the Englishman. But he was not going to stand by and let this man kill Angel. Once again he looked at his hands. His most honed, most powerful weapon. Not only in the martial arts, where he preferred the use of the bo-staff, but the source of his kinetic powers. To charge something he needed to touch it.

He listened to the words of the stranger and thought about his own past. He, also could be considered a danger to this world. After all, if it wasn't for the implant in his head, his charge powers would be capable of blowing up the whole world. And what? Was he supposed to die because of this possibility? Shot like a rabid dog? Just because he COULD? 

"I hear you." He answered calmly. "I am aware that I don't… know enough… but dere should come somebody dat knows jus' what to do." The accent slipped into his speech unbidden. It was hard to let go of a whole life of habits.

"What? Who?" Asked bewildered Wesley "I must warn you that the people that actually know something about Angel's curse are very scarce and…" He was stopped by a hesitant knock at the door.

Remy turned and headed towards the front door.

* * *

Rush felt… strange. As if dozens of little creatures were suddenly crawling up her spine. The hotel was literally stuffed with presences. Some were souls, which she could sense even from the door, some were different… not human, not demonic either… a completely different kind of being that seemed to exist beyond any world that she ever knew. 

Her instincts were screaming at her to turn back and run as far away from this place as she could. After all, it wasn't like she was really indebted to Remy in any way. She just said that she would help him if he ever needed it. It wasn't…

… oh Hell it was a promise. If there was one thing she absolutely loathed it was people who broke their promises without a valid reason and she would not do that. But she was not a noble person, she wasn't even sure she was good. The main force that drove her life was her indomitable survival instinct. Sure she had regrets… for about a week. If something was done, then it was. No use in wallowing in self pity and guilt. The best thing you could do was to move on and try to make up for past wrongs with future goods. 

The uneasiness increased and she entertained herself with the images of her turning on her heel and going back, but the presence beside her was sure to keep her in place.

Doyle.

She could feel the strength of his shoulder so near, so close that it would warm her and make her stronger. If there was one person she really owed something- it was Doyle.

He and a handful of other souls she used in a way that no one ever thought that a shaman would.

Usually Shamans, unlike Sorcerers and Warlocks , like herself, were gentle creatures that were capable of giving the lost souls peace and was given their knowledge and strength. Sorcerers and Warlocks used the strength of the souls without their consent, forcing them into a painful slavery, tearing their strength out of them until there was nothing left. Then they would find themselves a new victim. They were also known for killing strong humans and enslaving the souls of dying people. There was the difference. To Shamans the souls came voluntarily and they never used the given strength in a violent way. 

But Shamans were also usually respected and protected by the society where they lived. She was not.

Rush was young and so incredibly terrified when suddenly she could see faces of DEAD people staring at her, their eyes hollow and empty, their hands reaching for her over and over again. She felt death and pain every day of her life since her gifts came into effect. But as a natural Shaman she was offered guidance and advice from older, more peaceful souls that surrounded her.

Shamans were supposed to be pure at heart or they would loose their gift which meant their instant death. It was the thing that surprised her the most. She broke every law, every rule when she used the power given to her by the souls to kill. 

She survived being buried alive beneath a mass of decaying bodies and God forgive her, she did get her revenge. The eighteen-year-old girl had found and murdered each and every person involved in the events of that night. 

Using skills she wasn't supposed to have at such a young age, she gathered the strongest of souls and used their power to find and kill. And whereas the bodies died quickly, the souls suffered a much, much worse fate. 

She didn't die, nor did she lose her gift. However it… changed. She was sure she was not holding any of the souls against their will. They came and went as they wished. Most stayed though.

Doyle, the gentle Irish demon that had accompanied her for almost three and a half years, was probably the most powerful spirit she ever met. So powerful that if she stepped back a little, he could probably take her over. But he never even attempted, nor proved to be any danger to her.

He was the one that first answered her call for vengeance. After him, more souls had given her the power to seek and destroy.

Now he wanted something from her. Sometimes the half-demon could talk to her like a normal being. Full sentences and meanings, but mostly he just sent her feelings and confused messages.

This time she was sure that Doyle wanted her here, in Los Angeles… and in this hotel. His presence was now stronger than ever before. 

Rush felt a light breeze on her shoulder, a ghost of a touch and sighed, finally succumbing to the need she sensed from Doyle.

She knocked at the door marked Angel Investigations. 

* * *

* * *

Wesley gasped at the sight of the young woman that entered the hotel. She was tall, almost as tall as Remy and had long, ebony black hair reaching in shiny curls well below her shoulders. She was lean and beautiful, but not extraordinarily so. Once could say that Cordelia was much more stunning, but the young woman had something to her, an aura of sensuality and power that made Wesley pay attention to her.

She was dressed in soft looking black pants and a thin black turtleneck. She appeared to have no jewelry on. He struggled to tell her age. She was young, probably twenty-one or two, but there was something in the way she walked, the way she scanned the place warily that made Wes think that she had much more experience that someone so young ever should.

Helpless in his chair, he could only watch as she approached Remy and stopped, three feet from him obviously not sure what to do.

"You look good Chere" Remy's voice was soft, colored with obvious affection. 

It seemed to work. The woman smiled and crossed the final feet to hold the tall Cajun tightly.

* * *

Remy inhaled the soft, feminine scent of Rush and held her, sensing her unease and the nervousness that her body didn't show. He saw the changes in her. She was no longer that confused teenager that could think of only one thing - revenge. 

He still had nightmares sometimes from the day he first met her… Quickly he shook those thoughts off and broke the hug, pulling back. He noticed that the only make-up on her face was a thick, but very well done eyeliner that made her incredible violet eyes look even more alien and enticing. She was more confident in her looks also… but that came with a price. Now, looking at her, he couldn't see any shred of the innocence that she once possessed. 

"I wasn't sure you'd come Rush."

She sniffed suspiciously, but quickly regained her composure and shivered, looking around the dark, trashed lobby.

"You helped me once Remy. I promised to come if you needed me. So I came."

He stroked her cheek, trying to reassert the intimacy and friendship they once shared. She gave him a little smile and drew back. 

His brow furrowed. She never backed from his touch before. She seemed to understand his unspoken question.

"It's not you Remy. It's… this place. It's creeping me out."

Remy smiled at the language.

"How come you were here in Los Angeles? The last time we talked you were in England."

"It's a long story. I will tell you sometime later, okay?"

Remy sensed that she was not going to answer him, so he let it slide.

Suddenly they both heard a sound of throat being cleared. 

Rush looked deeper into the corridor and her brows arched at the sight of the bound, dark haired, and quite good looking man. 

Remy winced. That would be pretty tricky to explain.

* * *

Wesley watched fascinated as the young man that had neutralized Angelus and knocked him out cold the same night without more than a flinch, looked like a puppy that just knew he'd done something very, very bad.

"Remy… why is there a man strapped to a chair?"

"Eh…"

She looked closely at the destroyed lobby and finally noticed the burn marks.

"And why did you trash this place?"

Remy winced again and then tried hesitantly:

"It's a long story?"

Apparently his excuse wasn't working for her. All it got him was a raised brow and a long, meaningful silence.

"Um…" Remy still wasn't sure what to say when Wesley decided he had had enough of being treated like a piece of furniture. 

"My name is Wesley Wyndham-Price and your friend over there has attacked me which resulted in my losing consciousness. When I woke up I was already tied to the chair. Would you mind releasing me?"

Rush raised her brows at the extremely polite speech and then smiled. 

"My name is Rush." She stopped letting him know that her last name would not be revealed and then continued "And you have the most adorable accent I have heard in a long while."

Remy groaned behind her. He totally forgot that she was crazy about accents, especially English ones.  
Wesley couldn't help himself, he blushed. She was so beautiful that it was playing havoc with his senses.

"Remy can we release him or is Mr. Price a danger to us?"

"Wesley or Wes please." he interjected.

Remy raised his brows again. Were they flirting? Mon Dieu this night was becoming more and more strange by the minute. 

Remy looked at the Englishman again and then decided to give him a chance.

"I want to help Angel. He told me you are his friend. If you promise to help us, I will let you free.' He paused and then added "In case you decide to attack any of us. You already know that you can't possibly be faster than me…"

Wesley nodded somberly. Yes, he'd learned that lesson well.

"Rush? Show him what would happen if he threatened you?" It was a gamble. Four years ago Rush would have backhanded him for even thinking about such a thing. But she'd changed.

Wesley looked at the young, delicate face of the woman and felt his breath hitch a little when her amazing violet eyes glowed slightly and then the last remaining glass doors in the lobby exploded into hundreds of shreds that showered the marble floor with soft clinking sounds.

Wesley's mind was racing. Was she a demon? Half-demon? A witch? But she didn't do any incantation… so what the hell happened?

Rush watched the changing expressions on the dark haired man's face and turned around, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. She cast a glance in the direction where she knew Doyle was and cocked her brow.

/You have destroyed glass objects twice tonight. Why? Is it some kind of fetish I wasn't aware of?/

/Visual effects, Princess. Visual effects./

Rush shook her head but smile slightly, directing her steps towards the kitchen. She was thirsty.

She looked over her shoulder at Remy untying from Wesley and called calmly:

"Doyle says to say 'hi'."

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

Remy watched as Wesley became deathly pale and actually froze; each muscle stilled, lungs not drawing air. Complete shock.

Then, not paying any attention to Remy he dashed towards the kitchen, where Rush disappeared. He should have expected her to pull something like that. It seemed that she just loved shocking people.

When they reached the kitchen, she was casually leaning on the counter and finishing a glass of water. To any observer she was relaxed and not caring, but Remy noticed the slight tension in her slender fingers as well as the tension that radiated from her in waves. His empathy, always when he was near her, allowed him also to pick up on the faint presences around her.

“What game are you playing?” Asked Wesley, his voice still carrying the last shreds of the shock. “Doyle is dead!”

Remy stepped back, perfectly content to watch the situation from the shadows. It was always quite a show when Rush showed her real face. He knew that she wouldn’t hurt another human unless in an absolutely extreme situation, but Wesley Wyndham-Price didn’t know it.

Remy felt a corner of his mouth lift when Rush finally brought her attention to the shaken man. Her inhuman violet eyes so bright that they almost seemed to glow, and her pale skin luminescent in the darkened kitchen. 

“Oh… I am perfectly aware that he is dead Wesley.” There was a bitter pride in her words. Something that gave Wesley a pause. She emanated hurt, pain but also unbreakable strength and confidence that people so young just didn’t have. 

“How?”

Both Rush and Remy were surprised at how perceptive the ex-Watcher was. It seemed that they both underestimated him, thinking that he wouldn’t be able to understand.

After a pause she finally said:

“Do you know what a Shaman is?”

Wesley’s eyes lit up. He knew what they were of course, but he studied that phenomena as a myth, because there wasn’t a written record of any living Shaman in over 500 years. 

He could only nod, his mind racing. Even though he was stunned at the incredibly right choice the young man made. They were trying to restore Angel’s soul and who better for the job than a person that had unlimited power over lost souls?

“You could say I am a Shaman”

“Could say?” Wes asked curiously.

She smiled a sad little smile.

“I am… different.”

“How different?” His Watcher’s curiosity coming to the fore made him forget about the painful purpose of their meeting.

She only shook her head and looked at the silent Cajun.

“What do you need me for?”

“Do you know anything about vampires?” Remy asked quietly.

He wasn’t expecting the visible tremor that shook her body so hard she nearly dropped her glass.

“Y…Yeah… I know about vampires.”

Remy winced at the pressure in his mind. From what she’d told him, the souls that surrounded her reacted to her emotional distress and he was now assaulted with a mass of none too friendly emotions coming from every direction.

“My… lover is a vampire.” 

She didn’t react, keeping her emotions firmly in check and listened to him intently. 

“He was cursed a hundred years ago with a soul. What I didn’t know is that the curse had a clause. It broke tonight. Can you help bring it back?”

Rush carefully put the glass aside and fixed her gaze on the fridge, refusing to look at any of them.

“What was the clause?”

“Perfect happiness. The curse said that should Angel experience perfect happiness, he would loose his soul and become wholly demon again.” Supplied Wesley, intrigued by the sudden tension in the woman. 

She nodded letting them know that she understood.

“So this curse was one hundred years old?”

“No.” Answered Wesley “It was broken a few years ago and a young Witch reestablished it.”

“But she used the same, original curse?”

Wesley faltered a little and then nodded. He never thought about this aspect of the case.

“Stupid thing to do. Tell me the origins of the spell. Who cast it in the first place?”

“Ah… Right then, that would be the Gypsies. Angelus… the evil side of Angel, killed one of their clan and they had their revenge by cursing him with a soul, making him regret all the things he had done as a demon.”

“Gypsy curses are strong and extremely vicious.”

“Yes I know.”

“So can y’ help Rush?” Asked Remy again.

“I think I can. But I must see him first. Where is this… Angel?”

* * *

Rush stared at the pale form stretched on the bed. The vampire was slowly regaining his consciousness, but the aura of strength was extraordinary. At first she wanted to refuse, not wanting to have anything to do with vampires, but seeing the dark vampire and feeling the overwhelming emotion emanating from Doyle was more that she could take easily and felt her control slip.

“He has… destiny… and power. My god, so much power…” She wasn’t even aware that she was speaking it out loud until she heard Wesley answer. 

“Yes he has.”

She looked into the calm, hazel eyes and wondered if the man was indeed as bookish as he pretended to be. She could sense a lot of strength, even a feral energy in him.

“Can you bring his soul back?” Asked Remy softly, not pushing her, but so obviously wanting to help his lover.

Rush turned her attention to the vampire and started drawing strength from the souls in her care. Her vision became deeper, tearing through layer after layer of reality until only the truth was left.

What she saw hit her like a freight train and she recoiled with a wail that was painfully torn from her chest.

* * *

Remy jumped when the until-now, unconscious body on the bed jerked and howled inhumanly while Rush screamed, curled into herself and stumbled back. She would have fallen if Remy hadn’t caught her in time.

Angel was thrashing in his bonds, growling and snarling at them, his face full of ridges and his fangs flashing. But what distressed Remy the most was that the more the vampire was thrashing the louder Rush screamed, clutching at her head in a painful way.

He dragged them both out of the bedroom and a pale Wesley shut the door, muffling the unholy wails from the inside.

“Rush! Chere! You okay? Talk to me girl…”

She was pale, even more than before and the mascara was running down her cheeks along with tears. She was shaking badly and had obvious difficulty breathing.

After what seemed like eternity, she finally calmed down enough to open her eyes and look at them. What neither of them expected was the look of pure fury in her eyes when she finally lifted them. 

“What did you see?” Asked Wesley, but instead of an answer her fist caught his chin, hitting so hard he stumbled back and saw stars for a moment.

“You bastards! You fucking cruel bunch of moralists!” She cried out and sobbed in near hysterics. It was so strange to see the strong, slightly bitter woman so shaken that Wesley couldn’t react at all. He just stared as Remy pulled her away and tried to hold her to himself, crooning some soothing words in the thick Cajun accent. 

“Sh… Rush, shh Chere… it’s over… you’re save now…”

She sobbed a little more and kept her face buried in his naked chest. It took a moment before both men realized she was talking.

“So much pain… oh God so much pain… oh God…”

“What happened Chere?” asked Remy this time, trying to project as much soothing emotions as he could through his empathy. 

“The curse… those fucking bastards cursed him with a curse that was hurting him! It was not only the soul giving thing. It was magnifying every memory, twisting it, making him feel a hundred times worse and more guilty for every fucking thing. But he didn’t deserve such agony. No one deserves. It would be so much more merciful to just kill him. No they had to have their revenge for over a century.” She whirled around to face Wesley who now became the sole focus of her rage “And when the curse was broken you had to reassert it! But Gypsy curses are tricky and no one cared to actually look into the one, did you? You know what you did?”

She stopped to get a breath again and some of the rage left her. Wesley was pale and cold with fear even though he wasn’t the one to curse Angel. 

“You brought me here to give him back his soul. Well he didn’t loose it!”

“But…” Both Remy and Wesley thought about the vicious creature behind the closed door.

“When he felt some measure of happiness, you fucking idiots, the curse was not BROKEN you morons, but went into a second stage.” She was still too shaken to control her language. Her whole body vibrated with emotions. The realization hit Remy just then that it wasn’t her anger. It must have been Doyle, the man that was obviously familiar to Wes and probably to Angel.

“What does it mean?” Asked Remy seeing that Wes was in complete shock.

“The damned curse was not keeping his soul in place. It embedded the soul into the demon making them one. They fight for domination, but they are never really apart. The damn curse is now BURNING OUT his soul. He has turned into his demon visage because the pain is driving him mad! Imagine if it was your soul that was being burned out of you by some fucking curse!”

In the silence that descended, only her ragged breathing was being heard and the growls that came from the other room.

“He is in such pain, that his mind just shut down. Leaving only his most primal part. His soul is being killed from the inside.”

“Is there a way to help him? How much time do we have?” Asked Wes, finally snapping out of his shock.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself.

“According to Doyle… we don’t have time at all. Maybe an hour… or so”

“Oh God…” Moaned Wesley realizing just how much pain Angel must have suffered each day of his existence. Suddenly, it wasn’t surprising that he was so detached and remote from him and Cordelia all the time. It was his only way of dealing with the pain.

“But can we help him?”

She looked at Doyle and felt the pressure of his mind, the urgency of his emotions. He was desperate to save his friend. She wondered if this was the reason for him staying here after his death?

“Yes. I can make him stronger. Strong enough to fight the curse by himself”

“How?”

“By letting him draw strength from the souls under my protection.”

“But how are you going to do that?” Asked Remy again, puzzled 

“She’s going to let him feed off of her” Interjected Wesley, his voice was oddly… flat.

Remy shrugged. He let Angel drink from him earlier and nothing happened. As if reading his thoughts, Wesley continued:

“In order to let Angel actually reach the souls, she will have to let him… drain her. Kill her” His words echoed through the empty corridor like a cold wind.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

Remy’s head snapped up at that. It was impossible! How could he ask his friend to sacrifice her life for his lover??

“Surely there must be other ways…” Remy’s trailed off at the grim look on the ex-Watchers face and turned to look at Rush.

She was pale, but also determined. 

“Non!” No way he was going to let her die!

“There are things… you don’t know about me Remy. I… I can survive being drained by a vampire. But some safety measures must be undertaken.”

Remy furrowed his brow. There was something… She was hiding something from him, something she was ashamed of.

“What?”

She opened her mouth but then closed it, avoiding his eyes.

“I am sorry but… I can’t tell you.” There was steel in her voice. She would not tell him. End of discussion.

“So what do you propose?!” He was aware that he snapped at her, but he was tired, hurt and afraid and wanted Angel to come back to himself. 

“I need to talk to Wesley…” She looked at him, now quite ashamed of her earlier outburst. “If he agrees to my plan, I’ll let Angel feed of me to break the spell”

Remy looked from the bewildered Englishman to Rush and back again. He suspected that he was important because he knew so much about demons, vampires and spells.

He nodded sharply and turned to the stairs.

“I’ll be in de kitchen.” 

* * *

Wesley watched the young woman standing in front of a dark window in one of the unoccupied rooms. He waited patiently until she started speaking. He could sense something in her, something that told him that the solution to Angel’s problem may be less… tragic.

“Do you know what Nai’ro are?”

Wesley took his glasses off and cleaned them in slow, practical motions.

“Half an hour ago, I would have said that they are a myth.”

“And now?” She pushed.

“Are you trying to tell me that you are a Nai’ro?” He asked trying to maintain his calm.

“I am a half-breed. My father was pure Nai’ro”

“Oh my…” Wesley whispered. “You are a proof that most of the legends and myths I have been studying are true! A real Nai’ro. An ancient race that combined features of vampires and humans alike. Perfect killers with all the strength from both species and basically no weaknesses.”

“Pure blooded… yes. However I am a half-breed and I have never shown any of the features from my father’s side, besides maybe a resistance to magic. What I am saying is that I can survive being drained by Angel. However I would need help to do it.”

“What?”

“Living blood. Not from a blood bag, nothing that had already left a human body. It must be arterial blood, warm and pulsing, carrying the pure essence of life in it.”

Wesley was silent for a long moment trying to understand where she was leading.

“I need a donor Wesley and before you say it, it can not be Remy.”

“Why?”

“Because he will have to take care of Angel. My blood… my blood has a special effect on vampires. It’s… powerful and acts like a drug. After taking such amounts of blood from me, Angel will be distracted and very disturbed. Remy can calm him down.”

“Why? He’s known Angel only for a few hours. Don’t you think that I would be better in that role? Angel has known me longer and…”

“Remy’s an Empath.” She cut in, and Wesley stopped talking.

“Oh.”

“So what is your decision?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? I want Angel to live and I wouldn’t be able to live if your death was on my conscience.” He swallowed before speaking again. Everything in him rebelled against being bit by a vampire. His whole life, his Watcher training, told him just how dangerous it could be. But there was no question that he would do anything for Angel. Even risk his life.

“How… how much do you need?”

She still wasn’t looking at him. “Not much. You will have to keep feeding me until I regain consciousness.”

“Right then. What do you need?”

If she was surprised at his willingness, she didn’t show it.

“You will need a kind of sharp knife.”

“Why?”

She turned to him at least.

“Because I am not a vampire. I have no fangs and no ability to shift forms. You will have to cut yourself and force the blood into my mouth. I don’t need blood to live, I am a human being and have human needs. It’s just… it’s harder to kill me. That’s all.”

Wesley watched her shadowed face and wondered just what more she was hiding.

“Come. Let’s tell Remy and get on with it. You said yourself that we don’t have any time left to spare”

 

* * *

Remy was sitting on the only kitchen chair that survived his fight with Angel and was trying not to move his damaged arm too much. It hurt like all Hell, but he really didn’t have time to fuss over it. He considered briefly taking some painkillers from the first aid kit that Wesley had found, but quickly dismissed the idea. With his strange metabolism it was never really known what would happen if he took any drugs. It was better if he avoided them altogether. 

Sighing, he leaned back on the wall, cursing colorfully when he realized just how incredibly sore his back was and closed his eyes wishing for a cigarette. But unfortunately he had already smoked the last one tonight.

Instead, he tried to forget the pain and relax a little. He knew he would need all of his courage to go through the plan Rush had in mind. It sickened him that he had to ask her for something that could kill her, but another part of him screamed that he could not let Angel be lost. He didn’t want to admit just how much of himself he saw in the dark vampire.

He sat quietly with his eyes closed and didn’t even notice when his mind drifted off…

* * *

Logan got up from the bed in an instant when the faint, spicy scent reached him for the first time. It was there… spice and cinnamon and …

“Remy?” He called into an empty room.

As usual there was no answer, but suddenly he could hear a single, slightly fast heartbeat. 

He swirled around and gasped at the sight that greeted him.

There, in the corner of the room, practically hidden by the deep shadows, stood Remy.

His face was pale and his auburn hair loose, falling softly around his face. But that wasn’t what shocked Logan. He was shirtless, only in tight black jeans and it showed his bruised, battered chest and arms in every detail. The bruises on his left arm were especially vicious, so much that Logan wondered if it wasn’t broken.

His chest had deep, angry scratches caused by something resembling animal not human nails and he smelled of pain.

“Remy… are you all right? What happened?”

The incredible, red on black eyes lifted to him, glowing slightly and casting a red glow on the darkened room.

In three long steps, Logan was beside the boy and swept him carefully into his arms, hugging close to his own, massive body as if that simple contact could protect him, shield him from pain. 

He closed his eyes to pull the familiar, reassuring aroma into his lungs and felt the cool body in his arms stiffen suddenly. Logan opened his eyes and looked at the young Cajun. The boy’s eyes were trained on the door to the other room. The one where Jean was…

“Remy listen to me, it’s…” He started talking but it was already too late. The body in his arms jerked suddenly and dissolved into nothingness.

“Fuck!!” He shouted, swinging angrily at the wall, feeling the adamantium laced bones dig into the flimsy wall of the cheap hotel.

The pain helped him to focus and while he stared at his hand, the knuckles and torn skin healing already he became aware of another thing. Another scent.

Blood.

He rushed to the other door and jerked them open. He froze in mid step at the sight that greeted him. 

In the middle of the room, curled and kneeling on the floor was Jean, holding her hands to her face trying to block the stream of blood pouring from her nose.

“Shit Red! What happened?!”

She tried to speak, but the blood was obviously disturbing her. It poured over her pale hands and down into a puddle on the floor.

Logan ran to the bathroom and wetted some towels under the cold water, then returned to her, butting one cold compress to the back of her head another other to the base of her nose, and the third she used to clean her face. 

After what seemed an eternity, but must have been only a few minutes, Jean stopped bleeding and sighed.

“What happened, Jean?” He asked a lot calmer now.

“Remy… he… he has such a powerful mind. He was here, did he?”

Logan nodded morosely.

“Just a minute, then he became all rigid and disappeared. I am worried about him Red, he was beaten up pretty bad…”

“You were right about him Logan. He comes here… but it’s not conscious. I know Remy’s mental shields. They never hurt me. Remy just didn’t want anybody in pain. They gave a warning and a promise of what could happen, but never really attacked. I think that this… version… of Remy that comes to you is an unconscious part of his mind. When I tried to touch his mind, he lashed out at me. Hard. If I was a weaker telepath… he would have killed me, easily.”

Logan took the dirty towels, trying to dampen the overpowering scent of blood.

“Have you learned anything?” He asked tentatively. After all, she’d got hurt and asking it seemed… harsh, but he couldn’t wait. Not after seeing Remy so bruised and battered, not after his nightmares in which he still saw Remy’s blood on his hands… 

Jean lifted her head and looked at him with a faint smile.

“Warm nights and general sense of direction… west.”

Logan locked his gaze with her.

“West coast.” They said in unison.

* * *

Remy opened his eyes and stilled momentarily. He remembered sitting on the chair and closing his eyes for a moment.

So what he was doing kneeling on the floor with his nose bleeding? His head hurt just like it did when someone tried to mess with it, but he was away from any telepath and his mental shields were intact.

He hated that. Just like for the two months since he woke up, he had the feeling that he should know something, that he should remember something but… but he couldn’t. It freaked him out.

His further musings were broken when he heard footsteps in the corridor. He only got the time to get off the floor and wipe his face clean when Rush and the Englishman came in. She was avoiding his gaze and the ex-Watchers face was grim.

He had the feeling that he wouldn’t like the plan. Not at all… 

 

* * *

/Don’t be afraid/ 

Rush looked from the pale vision of Doyle, back to the bed and the thrashing vampire on it.

/It’s gonna be alright. I’ll take care of you/ 

The green eyes of the Irish half-demon looked at her with tenderness and knowledge. Rush remembered what she sensed from him, when she saw him the first time.

That he died a terrible death. There was pain, physical suffering etched firmly into his being. But there was also sense of absolution, redemption in him. As if, by his terrifying death, he erased some terrible guilt from his life.

/Like you took care of your friends/ 

The man looked at the bound vampire and reached a hand to touch him, smiling tenderly with some fierce emotion in his eyes.

/I did keep him alive, didn’t I/

But the hand passed through the sweating, panting and growling form of the vampire and the tender smile on Doyle’s face disappeared. 

Rush closed her eyes at the feeling of pain and loneliness that assaulted her before the half-demon shook himself from the morose thoughts.

/You don’t have much time. Hurry/ He urged fading into the constant background of voices that only she could hear.

Wesley watched her with fascination as her gaze became a little bit distant and her incredible eyes shone violet light for a moment, before she focused on her task again.

In silence, he watched as she fingered the neck of her turtleneck and then pulled it off in one, efficient movement. It left her only in her jeans and a thin, cotton, sleeveless undershirt. Nothing fancy, but on her it looked like the finest lingerie that money could buy.

Rush made a few hesitant steps toward the bed and then faltered. She was afraid. Although she said that she could survive, it was just a… theory. She, as well as Wesley, knew that there were not only perks to being a Nei’ra. The whole race tended to have certain problems. In spite of their physical power, they tended to fall into… madness. All of the known Nei’ra died before reaching their fiftieth birthday by their own hand. 

Her plan was really nothing more than a gamble. A dangerous and poorly planned gamble. 

She returned her focus to the vampire. For a brief moment, Rush considered cutting her vein open with a knife, knowing it should be less painful if the knife was sharp.

If a vampire wanted, he could make the bite not painful but looking at the straining Angel, his demon face up front and fangs snapping at them with wild groans, she knew that he would not be merciful with her.

When she decided to ask for a knife, she could again see Doyle, his green eyes staring at her with warm understanding.

/Don’t/

/Why? it would be less painful/ Rush replied.

The Irishman shook his head.

/No Princess. The knife will leave a scar. A vampire bite, no matter how messy, wouldn’t scar/

Rush shivered and cast a last glance over at Remy. Her friend was tense, his face drawn and his eyes again hidden by the ever present shades. She knew that something must have happened while he was in the kitchen, but there was no time to ask. 

Catching her gaze, Remy nodded and gave her a tight smile, trying to pretend that he wasn’t afraid for his lover and his friend. After all, if things went really bad today, they would both be lost. Her to death and him to the demon. 

Slowly, feeling her heart beat one hundred times a minute, she crawled on the foot of the bed.

The vampire snarled at her, his yellow eyes slashing in her direction, but stilled. The demon was obviously baffled by her action and maybe even a little afraid, since it could smell the sheer power and the death in her scent. 

She wanted to say something cocky, to diffuse the atmosphere, but she couldn’t. Her throat was so tight with fear that she could barely breath. The tension she could sense from the two men in the room and the pure bloodlust from the demon wasn’t helping any.

She prayed to every deity that her plan would be successful and that she’d actually wake up some time tomorrow. 

Finally, she was face to face with the vampire her friend called a lover. For an eternal moment, they just stared at each other with nothing happening and then the vampire lunged, using as much give as he could find in the chains. 

Rush expected pain and fear, but not this tearing agony that shot through her. 

She expected two fangs to cut through her skin straight into the artery on her neck. What she didn’t expect was the feral cruelty in the vampire’s attack. He didn’t bite her, he seemed to rip half of her neck off with one move and then next, lightning fast, he tore the already damaged tissues so much that the blood spurted out on his whole face, the pillow and even on her arms.

She wasn’t even aware of the heart wrenching screams that tore out of her before even they were stopped by the damage to her neck.

She felt agony rush through her whole body, tearing it apart, filling her veins, making her pray for it to be over, no matter what cost and then there was only blackness… 

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9 

Remy knew it lasted no more than a second, a fraction of a second maybe, but it was a sight, he was sure would join his endless collection of nightmares. 

He froze, feeling as if there was suddenly no air in the room whatsoever, watching as the demon that possessed Angel’s body literally ripped Rush’ throat out, causing red blood to splutter on every available surface. Like in a cheap horror movie, the blood was everywhere. On Angel’s face, on her face, her shoulders and on the sheets. A fine cover of it also ended up on the white wall behind the bed.

Remy saw her open her mouth to scream but the sound was stopped almost as soon as it started, the damage too severe. In slow motion, Remy watched tears run down her face, eyes wide and unblinking, full of terror and unimaginable agony and then, she collapsed on the snarling vampire, like a broken toy… lifeless and motionless. 

Everything seemed suddenly so still, so motionless… dead and silent. He was vaguely aware of the Englishman in the room, but the other man was so quiet, that Remy wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

They watched the vampire feast upon her broken body, tearing the already badly injured neck and they both knew, with absolute certainty, that no doctor, no hospital, no wonder of medicine could save her.

And then something happened. 

The demon arched back suddenly, ripping his fangs out of the remnants of her neck and howled, his body arching and muscles flexing, straining under the skin that suddenly was covered in cold sweat.

As if on cue, both Remy and Wesley dashed towards the bed. Remy grabbed the muscular shoulders that were slick with sweat and blood; he jerked with all his strength, trying to move Angel from the lifeless body of his friend. 

Wesley, without any hesitation put his hands under Rush’s arms and pulled, though aware that he may hurt her further, but also knowing that time was the most important thing right now.

He felt frighteningly inadequate, too clumsy, too much of a failure to be given such a task.

To save her life.

But this was not the time. He kept his resolve firm when he pulled her limp form away from the bed and the struggling figures there. He tried not to look, not to smell the blood that ran freely over her shoulder and onto his hand, dripping lower and leaving a horrific trail on the floor. 

* * *

Lindsey McDonald got up from the expensive leather chair in his office at Wolfram and Hart and directed his steps to the elevator that would take him to the underground levels.

On his way, he saw the attractive, red-headed Lilah Morgan. They had a lot of history between them. 

“Lilah.” He greeted her, smiling knowingly. He had the pleasure of witnessing her groveling a few hours before when she came to report to their boss, Holland, that the girl she was supposed to be escorting, was gone.

“Lindsey” She all but hissed at him, still a little shaken. When she entered Holland’s office, she wasn’t sure she would leave the place alive. 

Lindsey considered some biting remark, but before he decided on tormenting the woman a little, the elevator stopped and they entered a dark room with only one point of centered light.

They both approached the hooded figure sitting on a lonely chair under the ray of light and waited patiently for the Oracle to speak. 

The raspy voice cut through the still air, causing Lindsey to shiver lightly. 

“The curse has been broken.”

This time the shiver that ran down Lindsey’s spine was not one of fear but of triumph. Weeks of research, endless hours of careful planning had their effect!

“So the vampire took our bait?”

“The Champion of Light has taken the One that Cares.”

“I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. The boy is almost a copy of his only real weakness…” Lindsey thought about the younger vampire - Spike a.k.a. William the Bloody. Angelus had this vampire as a companion and lover for over 70 years. And even when he had the chance, when the younger vampire betrayed him and tried to kill him, Angelus never staked him. He tortured him, tormented him both physically and emotionally, but never did he kill the vampire. 

But Spike couldn’t act as bait in Lindsay plan’s. The vampire was too violent and unstable… and hated Angel too much to be able to give Angel his ‘perfect happiness’.

So they found someone who combined everything that made Spike desirable for Angelus and would be endearing to Angel.

Remy Lebeau.

A mutant with charge power, tragic past and empathy. The boy had a weak spot for people in pain, and it was almost a given that he would use his empathy to make Angel feel better.

Just what they wanted. 

“So the vampire has lost his soul?” Lilah asked to be sure.

“No.” Came the rasped reply.

“What?!!” Cried out both lawyers.

“The Shaman helped him. She broke the last of the Sacred Rules by helping the creature of the night. She is no longer under the protection of The Powers That Be.”

The shock that one of their plans had failed was quickly replaced by the knowledge that the alternate plan had worked. If they couldn’t get rid of Angel’s soul and bring him on their side, they’d create a perfect weapon that would destroy him. 

“Leave me.” Rasped the cloaked figure and both Lilah and Lindsey nodded their goodbye’s and left the dark room.

When the elevator door closed the lawyers looked at each other.

“I’ll take care of the Shaman.” Said Lindsey. He was actually curious about this girl that denied everything he’d learned about magic and the world of shadows.

“I’ll take care of the vampire then.” Agreed Lilah.

“Just don’t lose this one too, okay?”

The woman narrowed her eyes and when the elevator stopped, she cast a look at Lindsey’s newly restored hand and smiled sweetly.

“Well, from what I remember, it is you who tends to… loose… things?”

With that, she left the elevator feeling the other lawyer glower at her back.

* * *

Wesley watched as his hands shook like the those of an old man, while he bandaged the incredibly damaged throat of the beautiful girl. Rush was still under his hand. Not a whimper escaped her lips, not the merest sign of life. Nothing.

The wound was easy to dress because there was almost no bleeding. There simply wasn’t anything more to bleed.

His hand still shaking, his chest so tight he could barely breathe, Wesley put the young woman on the bed as gently as he could, trying to compensate for the agony she’d already suffered. 

Once again, he felt so incredibly inadequate for this role. He was such a failure… he always failed those that trusted him. His father, the Council of Watchers, Faith… Buffy… all those who relied on him… and now he was supposed to save this beautiful, mysterious woman. 

He looked at her, her lips almost blue, her eyes closed and her body colder with every minute. And something deep inside him stirred and cried out. Because it was not fair. Someone who held such capacity for goodness should never suffer this much. 

Trying not to think about all the things that may go wrong, he took the knife he prepared earlier and with one quick movement he slashed his wrist open, cutting all the veins inside and watched the blood well in the wound.

He had to force her jaws open; her body was unresponsive and then positioned her head so that the liquid of life would trickle down her throat without her actually swallowing.

The fact that he was working with Angel, killing demons, resulted in a lot of injuries. He knew that the bleeding from his wrist would take a long time to become dangerous to his life, so he put the wound to her blue, unmoving lips and prepared himself for a long wait…

* * *

Remy struggled to keep the thrashing body of his lover still, but his supreme strength proved to be too much for the Cajun and he had to let go. He was pushed off the bed, and landed heavily on the wooden floor.

He wasn’t attacked, Angel wasn’t trying to hurt him anymore. The dark vampire was turned so much inside himself that Remy doubted he was aware of anything around him.

With a huff, he got up and tried to think what to do. He was reluctant to use his empathy. Just look what it caused the last time he did it. But nothing worked. No matter how hard he tried to keep Angel still, he always got free, no matter how hard he tried to soothe him with words and comforting touches, Angel was still deeply disturbed and the pain evident on his face was tearing Remy apart. 

Sighing, Remy opened his shields again and tried to project as many warm and comforting thoughts as he could. The state of nervous tension that his dark lover was in, reminded him strangely of Logan’s rages, when the man turned feral. 

He crooned a soft, soothing sound towards the still twisting, tensing figure beneath him, stroked as much of the sweaty, cool flesh as he could reach in measured, soft touches that were meant to speak to the vampire’s sub- conscious, rather than conscious mind. 

He had no idea how long it took, five minutes or five hours maybe, his throat was becoming raw, and his chest tightened with each passing moment that he didn’t know if Rush’s sacrifice worked, if Angel would come back to him.

The body on the bed had quieted some time ago, Remy even removed the shackles. He couldn’t sense any violence from the him, so keeping him chained was pointless anyway. 

Remy knew that he should be disgusted by the sight of what Angel was now. His face and shoulders were smeared with dark blood and sweat that ran in rivulets over his pale body, but strangely he wasn’t. He thought about it several times already. Somehow, no matter what Angel said, had done or appeared to be, it never put him off. He accepted Angel to an extent that scared even him. 

* * *

Wesley was becoming more afraid by the minute. He was feeling lightheaded already and knew that he should have stopped the bleeding quite a while ago, but he kept hoping that in the next minute, the next moment, Rush would wake up.

However, nothing happened.

He wondered how much blood he could afford to loose before he himself would be in danger. Judging by the way his vision started to swim, not much more.

Just when he thought that it was a lost cause, that the damage was too bad for her to survive, he started to withdraw his hand, reaching for the gauze and bandage he’d prepared earlier, that was when something happened.

At first it was only a strange sensation at the back of his neck, just a twitch… as if somebody was watching him. A mere hint of a feeling, precognition maybe. Wesley quickly dressed his sluggishly bleeding wrist and then turned around, watching the empty, barely lit room.

Nothing.

Only silence and his singularly heavy breathing that seemed terrifyingly loud in the still room.

And then the sensation changed. From the almost-not-there to painfully intense, overwhelming static electricity in the air that sent shivers up his arms and made him twitch uneasily and then… and then everything went mad.

Every single portable object in the room, every vase, every pen, sheet of paper, picture or small piece of furniture started floating around the room in circles around the bed.

The sensation was becoming more intense by the second, so much that Wesley’s lungs ached when he tried to pull some air into them, it seemed as if the air itself was pure electricity burning him from the inside. 

And then, over the eerie silence a gasp broke through. He turned around to the woman resting on the sheets and saw her lids framed with ink black eyelashes flutter and then open, revealing violet eyes burning with a gentle light that cast an unearthly, beautiful glow on her features.

For a moment, she stared ahead with no recognition whatsoever, and then, slowly her eyes turned towards him and she recognized him. The same moment as Wes saw recognition in her eyes, everything in the room stilled and hovered in the air for a brief moment before falling to the floor with a clatter, to which neither of them gave any attention.

“Rush… “ He wanted to ask if she was in pain, how she felt, but none of the words seemed to make their way out of his throat.

He watched her incredible eyes move down his pale face watching him with something warm and appealing that he was too afraid to name just yet, to his shoulders and then lower down his arm to his bandaged wrist.

She opened her lips to speak, but then her hand flew to her throat and she winced. He didn’t know if it was at the pain or the memory, but she closed her mouth, obviously unable to speak. 

Instead she touched his arm, sliding her elegant, long fingered hand to his wounded wrist and pulled it towards her face. Then she put a soft kiss on the wound in a gesture of gratitude and appreciation that shocked Wesley to the core.

What he didn’t expect was the rush of warmth he felt when her soft, dry lips brushed across a patch of skin, warmth that shot straight to his groin making it tighten. 

It was a perfectly healthy reaction for a man to get a little excited when such a beautiful woman kissed his hand, even if it was in gratitude, but the way he was sitting on the edge of the bed made it painfully obvious to Rush.

Wesley was… mortified. He felt his face become beet red and really, he wasn’t aware that he had enough blood in his body to be able to do that and he wanted to apologize and wished for the earth to open and swallow him. He didn’t know what to do, where to look… anywhere but at her. She wanted only to thank him and he… he… God how much of a failure could he actually be? Getting hard at such a moment!

“I… I… umm.. I am sorry… I” He stuttered, not knowing what to say to apologize… He got up suddenly, desperate to hide the obvious sign of his arousal from her, quite terrified that even now, when he was mortified beyond anything he ever experienced, his erection just refused to go away. 

But when he tried to move away from the bed a cool hand stopped him. He turned and looked into the violet eyes that mesmerized him from the very first moment, and was surprised at the strength of her grip on his arm, when she’d been practically dead five minutes ago.

As she kept pulling him steadily closer, he was frantically searching his mind for something, anything that would make up for this unfortunate accident.

“I am really sorry…” But she shushed him by putting one finger to his lips.

More shocked and bewildered now than few moments before, Wesley just stared at her, not understanding what she wanted him to do, but kept following her gentle tug until he was on the bed alongside her. 

With more grace than a person that went through such a horror as she, Rush twisted until she was leaning over Wesley.

“Wha…?” He tried to ask, but then he felt her lips on his and her tongue that gently, but insistently pushed inside his mouth.

If he was surprised by her actions, he was even more bewildered by her obvious self assurance. She was not asking for the kiss she was… seducing him.

He gave into the kiss, too surprised and unsure to be able to take control, all the while thinking frantically about the ‘why’ of this. He was not a bad looking man, he knew it, but he was also painfully aware of the fact that women found him somehow lacking all the time and none of them were really attracted to him. He was never desired, never really wanted. His lovers, the ones he did have, came to him for various reasons, but none of them were desire. They came to him because he was the nice, well mannered guy, because he was from a wealthy family, because it was expected of them…

That seemed to jerk him from his stupor. This… whatever it was, could have been caused only by one thing - gratitude. And he would rather spend the night alone, than with her. Because he promised himself, somewhere along the way, that he would never again take a lover that felt nothing towards him, nothing towards his real self. 

He was sick and tired of sharing his body with people who didn’t realty give a damn about him. Because always, every time, he fell in love. He just couldn’t have sex and not get involved. 

As gently as he could, he pushed Rush away, feeling his body protest at such a thing. It felt incredibly good to be touched again. It was such a long, long time since ANYBODY touched him, since anybody cared… 

“No…” He said, his voice breaking.  
Her violet eyes turned to look at him and he was surprised to see the need in them- the intense, powerful need that made him falter in his decision.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a charity fuck.

“Need you.” She didn’t actually say the words, but she mouthed them so that Wesley was able to read her lips. 

She touched his face and slowly took his glasses away. Wes watched her look at him, really look at him probably seeing beneath the cover and the man inside - insecure and so pitifully alone. He didn’t know what she saw, but there was a soft expression in her eyes that quickly turned into something much more intense, much more alive and smoldering. It was pure desire.

This time it was Wesley who reached for her, pulling her closer, touching her lips in a hesitant kiss. 

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

Remy let out a breath that he wasn’t even aware he was holding when the dark eyes of his lover fluttered open and focused on him with obvious difficulty.

“Remy?” Angel croaked surprised and then furrowed his brow at the overwhelming scent of… blood in the room. His eyes flew open and he struggled to sit upright. 

“What happened? Did I hurt you?… the curse…?”

“Shh…” Remy tried to soothe his lover. “Everything’s all right. You soul’s in place. And ‘m fine.”

“But the blood…”

Remy wanted to tell Angel that they would talk in the morning, but sensing the distress coming from his lover, he knew it wouldn’t be possible. Angel wanted to know *now* what happened. 

Sighing, she slowly explained everything that had happened in the last few hours. 

“And Rush… the woman that… did this for me…” He could barely speak through the shock of what he’d heard, but it was important that he knew. “Is she okay? Is she alive?”

There was so much blood and he could feel her taste in her mouth, could feel the power of her blood inside him, giving him strength. 

“Don’t know yet… I don’t know what Wesley was supposed to do. She didn’t tell me.”

Angel tried to get out of the bed, but Remy stopped him.

“I must know if I killed her, Remy. How… how can I live with this soul if it causes people to die over and over again… it’s not worth it Remy. Not worth the pain it causes.” 

Remy wanted to say something comforting, that he was just stressed, that everything would be all right, but how could he when his own life wasn’t all right? So he opted for something else instead.

“It’ll be better if I went to check on her… you should take a shower… clean yourself, okay?”

“But…”

“Angel.” Remy’s voice was harder how. “She is my friend. I asked her to risk her life for you. She was perfectly aware of the danger. Whatever happens, it’s my responsibility, not yours.” With that Remy stormed out of the room, angry at Angel for taking the blame and angry at himself for risking Rush’s life, and so very much afraid that the plan had not worked.   
* * *

Angel stared at the closed door and sighed. Great. He was awake for how long? Five minutes? And he already managed to drive his lover away. It was depressing. The person that had done so much for him, when he didn’t really have a reason, was now angry and away.

Angel considered getting up and finding Remy, but decided that it would anger the Cajun even more. If there was one thing he was sure about the mutant, it was his temper. 

Besides the smell of blood was driving him crazy. He needed to clean himself and the bed if he wanted to stay sane. 

He stood up from the bed and pulled the sheets, using them to clean the wall as best as he could. He was disturbed by the sheer amount of blood that was spilled. It unnerved him to think of such aggression, such bestiality as something he could do. 

Throwing the sheets into the laundry bin, Angel stepped into the shower, switching on the hottest water he could stand. He put his palms flat on the tiled wall and lowered his head, watching the pinkish water swirl under his feet and then drain slowly.

On the one hand, he was tired, exhausted by the memory of that enormous pain that burned him from the inside, driving him out of his mind. On the other, he was incredibly… invigorated. He knew it was the blood he drank. He hadn’t had human blood in almost two years and forgot the rush of power that came with the feeding. 

Angel licked his lips, tasting the women’s blood. He could tell how young she was by the very taste of her, she was afraid but focused and she wasn’t entirely human either. The blood held incredible power, a force that he could feel roaring through his veins, filling him with energy and lust… and guilt. Because he felt guilty for this exhilaration, since it came from somebody else’s pain. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the water to wash away all of the hurting, all of the pain that lingered in his soul, wishing it to warm those parts of him that seemed frozen for all eternity. 

* * *

Remy was still fuming when he reached the door he knew Rush was behind. He pushed it open silently and froze at the sight that greeted him. 

The room was dark, only one little lamp on the bedside table was casting a soft, golden glow on the two figures on the bed.

The soft sight that drifted towards him was accompanied by a quiet rustling of cloth on skin, when he watched as long, slender fingers of the woman he called his friend, pushed the blue shirt from the Englishmen’s shoulders, revealing surprisingly muscled shoulders… and scars that told Remy that there was much more to this bookish man than appeared on the first sight.

He watched, quite captivated as the man threw his head back, exposing long throat, his face without glasses surprisingly sharp and almost… feral with soft lips lightly parted as Rush dragged her fingernails down his chest, causing a visible shiver to run through the man. 

Remy knew he should turn around and leave, but the sight was too captivating. He realized the attraction between the two of them before, but he never knew it would come to this so fast. Rush was the type of girl that treated sex extremely seriously and would never agree to one night stands, and the Englishmen struck him as a man of similar views. 

What Remy didn’t expect was the way they looked together. Both dark haired and golden skinned. There was beauty in the curve of Wesley’s spine when he bent to the woman lying under him, kissing her. There was incredible gentleness in the way her long fingers threaded through his short, black hair, mussing it. A potential of sensuality that he would never suspect of Wesley when he arched his body into the touch, his eyes closed and mind so obviously focused on the woman with him.

Sensing that he’d probably seen too much already, Remy carefully backed off from the room. Well, at least he was sure that Rush was okay. Still a little baffled at the turn of events, Remy decided to go back to Angel and hopefully smooth things between them as well. There was a restless energy in him, he knew it came from the recent fear, from the adrenaline. Now, that everything was calm again, he felt the need to make sure that Angel was safe and was still himself.

As sensual a creature as he was, he needed touch, needed physical proximity to ease his fears. That was probably the reason why he snapped at the vampire earlier. Fatigue and stress never did him any good. 

* * *

Angel heard the door to the bathroom open, but didn’t react. He kept his head bent, letting the hot water pour on his neck and lower, warming the tired muscles, but doing nothing to wash away the tension. His nostrils flared when the scent of living human filled the air. Even under all that hot water and scent of soap he still could smell the faint traces of fear, tears and anger on the younger man, he could still smell his blood…

He was so focused on the scent that he was actually surprised to hear Remy’s voice just behind him.

“Let me help you…” The voice was smooth and husky… and sent shivers down Angel’s back. 

He listened to the soft rustling of cloth when Remy was undressing and kept his eyes closed. Part of his mind knew it was dangerous. That he should push the boy away, but another, the bigger one that was just too tired of taking care of everybody, of keeping them safe from himself, held him still.

“You should leave…” He whispered weakly, the smell of the living person driving the demon inside him mad.

In answer, he felt only a gentle touch on his shoulders, one long fingered hand resting there not moving.

“I know Angel… I know…” Came the soft whisper in his ear and the warm press of another naked, wet body to his back.

Angel opened his eyes, feeling his face shift into a demon visage and growled lightly, seeing the familiar hands encircle him and link over his stomach. He felt the press of lean, but muscled chest on his back and fought to stay in control.

“Leave Remy… it’s… it’s not… safe…” He fought hard for control, but could already tell it was a lost battle.

“Shh… I understand.”

“Do you?” He asked suddenly and with almost a roar whirled around, breaking Remy’s hold on him and pinning the smaller man to the tiled shower wall. 

“Do you really understand?!”

The need, the incredible urge to reaffirm his life, to make sure that he was still whole and alive was gnawing at him, but he was painfully aware of the fact that human bodies were breakable, frail… fragile… He could not, would not hurt another person today.

“Oui. I do understand.” Remy’s red on black eyes glowed lightly when he pressed his fingernail into Angel’s flesh so hard he drew blood, leaving long, painful scratches on Angels shoulders.

The vampire hissed and stopped fighting the change of his face, pressing closer to Remy, kissing him with bruising strength. The Cajun did everything he could to match Angel’s aggressiveness. He let go completely. His nails scratched and grazed Angel’s skin, drawing blood over and over again. 

The vampire was growling low in his throat almost constantly now, pressing his body to Remy, feeling the mutant lift his thighs and surround his hips, linking his ankles behind his back. Using his preternatural strength, Angel spun them around, causing Remy to hit the other wall with audible thump and then rocked their bodies under the hot water, letting their tongues play hide and seek, chasing every taste of his lover and licking it, tasting him and the water that poured over their faces, plastering hair to skulls, running over their eyes, but still neither of them closed their eyes, daring each other, provoking… challenging.

Remy felt Angel slide one hand towards the small shelf with soaps and shampoos and tightened his hand in Angel’s hair, throwing his head back, exposing his throat and pulling Angel closer and urging him onward.

“Take your pleasure…” The very memory of those ivory fangs cutting into his flesh again made him shiver and his cock hardened even more.

He felt Angel hesitate for a briefest moment and then felt his cool lips on his neck, just over the pulse point and then that incredible sensation of fangs cutting into his skin, almost no pain only this strange, intoxicating sensation.

He was dangerously close to coming from only this and was grateful when he felt slick fingers touch between his buttocks and then one, thick finger slip easily inside. 

“Maintenent… s’il te plait Angel… maintenent…” He whispered urgently, still keeping Angels head close to his neck, aware that Angel wasn’t really drawing his blood, more like enjoying the connection in the same, painfully intense way that Remy was. 

Hearing the plea, Angel couldn’t really stall any longer and removed his probing finger, shifting Remy, trapping him between his solid mass of flesh and the tiled wall. He felt the Cajun tilt his hips in blatant invitation and positioned himself at the still lightly aggravated entrance to his lover’s body, sinking on one, slow, powerful thrust, tearing a scream from the Cajun’s mouth.

A shudder rocked them both, as the connection was completed. Angel kept changing from Game face to human and back, when the hot channel gripped him in an almost painful way and Remy’s fingers dug into his scalp so strongly that he could smell his own blood running down the shallow wounds. 

Pulling his fangs out to scream his pleasure, he started thrusting all control, all semblance of humanity outside the bedroom door, until only this white hot need was left.

“Mon Dieu…” Remy whispered through clenched teeth and then his body shuddered and arched, his orgasm absolutely silent.

Angel watched that lithe, hard body twist and tense as the spasms rocked it, watched the red on black eyes roll back, till only the black remained and when Remy parted his lips for the last time, to give out a wordless, silent shout of pleasure, he shuddered himself and felt his body almost draw into himself when a powerful climax took over him, flooding him with wave after wave of pleasure. 

After regaining some measure of control Angel took the limp, unconscious body of his lover out of the shower and toweled him dry before putting him into the newly made bed.

He stood over the sleeping figure for a long time watching him, and wondering. Why he was so attracted to Remy? He wasn’t in love with him, this he knew for sure, but he felt a connection to the Cajun that he hadn’t felt with anyone in such a very long time. 

But the younger man made him feel alive, really alive. He brought out the passion in him and he was more than capable of taking care of himself. He was strong and…

When Angel realized where his thoughts were going, he shook his head. No, not possible. But… if he looked close enough, the similarity between Remy and Spike was just too close for comfort. 

If he was honest with himself, it was the first thing that caught his attention. The spirit, the blatant sexuality, the temper and fearlessness. But it could never be. What he wanted was the idealized picture of his Childe, not the real hateful and obnoxious one. 

It was all just empty wishes… 

* * *

Lindsey closed the door to his suite and went straight for the bar. He poured himself a triple whiskey and then sat in one of the leather chairs. He sat there for a long, long while only staring at the folder on his knees, thinking about all the information that was there.

A Shaman.

At first he wasn’t really interested, but his nature, his overwhelming desire to be the best, drove him into extensive research as always. 

Hour after endless hour of reading through the dusty books filled with rubbish and fairytales gave him information that changed his view on this case. 

Shamans could be used in a very interesting way. It seemed that there existed a certain spell that allowed to take the power from the Shaman and pour it into another being, giving it strength and power. 

He knew that Holland Masters planned something that combined both her presence, Spike’s and the Oracle. What it was, Lindsey didn’t know, but a plan started forming in his brain.

It was a chance, an opportunity to finally have his revenge. Because if there was one thing, one being that Lindsey hated with all his heart, it was Angel, the vampire with the fucking soul. 

And it wasn’t because of the obvious animosity between them. No. it was because of Darla.

He loved her.

It was strange and scary to love a woman, but he did. God, he would have done anything for her. Fought the Devil himself. But she never really looked at him. She used him, seduced him and then left him to rot alone and be a constant source of amusement for Lilah, who just couldn’t let him forget.

All that Darla wanted was this vampire, that pitiful excuse for a man. No matter if she was human or vampire, she always wanted only her Childe… only Angel. 

The day he realized that, Lindsey promised, vowed to himself that he would have his revenge. It didn’t matter when. Tomorrow or ten years later, but he would get even with the vampire.

He hissed at the sudden, sharp burn in his hand. He looked up, surprised to see the empty glass smashed to pieces and the shards of glass cutting into his palm.

Cursing softly he got up and holding his hand close to his chest, he wet to the kitchen, and towards the sink.

He took care of the bleeding, keeping his hand under the stream of cold water for some time, and then brought the file back to the kitchen.

No matter what cost, he would not let this chance pass him by.

Slowly, he opened the file and started reading. He needed to learn the ritual by heart and prepare it, so that no one would know what was going on before he finished it.

It seemed that the same person that saved Angel, would be the means to destroy him. 

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11

Angel was sitting in the chair in his office, fingers linked in front of his face and his eyes far, far away from the place he was.

He was aware of the woman standing in the entrance to his office. He heard her coming down the stairs and into the kitchen, then heard the soft splash of water as she filled her glass. He could feel the steady beat of her heart, as if it was just under the palm of his hand. He could smell her scent as it was part of him and he didn’t need anybody to tell him that it was the woman that saved him. He wondered if she was as aware of him as he was of her? Because her blood wasn’t human. But wasn’t demonic either. Frankly, he had no idea just what she really was.

But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the unmistakable power in her blood, the power of life.

Without a single move, without any external sign, he followed her movements, hearing her drink, hearing the subtle pad of bare feet on the cold floor, and her low hiss when she stumbled on something.

Then she suddenly stopped, her heart beating faster and she came closer, only to stop in the open doorway.

He could smell sleep on her, remnants of blood. Both hers and Wesley’s.

And sex.

The scent was strong, powerful even speaking straight to the demon inside him. From what Remy told him, she was a Shaman. Could she see his demon? What did she see when she was looking at him?

Could she read the violent, bloody thoughts that rushed through his mind, the taste memory of her blood driving him almost out of his mind with the need to hunt. To maim and kill, to bend her to his will and then suck the last drops of her blood?

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Her hovering on the edge of the room, him sitting with his back to her; following her with his preternatural senses.

Finally, it was Angel that broke the strange impasse between them.

Slowly, he turned on this chair towards her and stood up in one, inhumanly fluid motion, not even a rustle of clothing disturbed the silence between them.

She was… younger than he expected, but her violet eyes looked at him without fear, only with disturbing thoughtfulness. Her face seemed pale, almost glowing in the dark of the room. She was dressed only in a man’s shirt, judging by the overwhelming scent of sex pouring from her, probably Wesley’s. It reached her about mid-thigh and did nothing to hide the shapely legs. But she wasn’t concerned about her clothes or the lack of. The black hair framing her face did nothing to hide the shockingly white bandage on her neck.

Suddenly, the urge to see the wound, to see the damage was stronger than his carefully kept cool and he started towards her, his face shifting smoothly into the vampire image, his brown eyes glowing yellow. He could feel his fangs cut into his own lip, but he ignored it, and obviously she also.

As he approached her, his demon to the fore she never took a step back, standing silently and quietly, only looking at him with those unbelievable eyes. He quickly decided that the eyes were the most beautiful part of her. Without them, she would be just an ordinary, pretty woman. With them, she was exotic and captivating.

She still said nothing when he raised one hand, fingernails slowly changing into long claws and reached with it to her neck. Only her heart started beating faster when the claw cut through the gauze and the bandage, causing the dressing to fall to the floor uselessly and the air filled with scent of blood again.

He moved his eyes from her violet ones for the first time and looked at her neck. The wound was already closed and healing, looking as if it was caused two weeks not hours ago.

The pink, swollen line and extensive bruising clearly showed the expanse of damage he’d caused. The pain must have been unbearable. He had nearly ripped her throat apart.

The silence between them was eerie, magic even. The beat of her heart and the sometimes too sharp drawing of breath and the heat of her wounded skin that he touched ever so lightly was their reality.

Without asking for permission, without even pretending to care for it, he leaned closer and flicked his tongue to lick over the healing wound, feeling a shudder go though his body at the stronger scent and taste of her blood, and hearing her sharp intake of breath. She was all too aware of just how close the fangs that’d done the damage were. Only his control keeping the demon away…

However, Rush didn’t try to push him away or pull away. She just stood there, silent and tense. One of her hands closed over Angels shoulder as if to keep her balance. Slowly, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, exposing the whole, ragged wound to Angel, feeling his cool tongue flutter over it, giving her unexpected pleasure.

Finally, she gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging in deep, almost painfully and she pulled her body away from Angel’s strange attention.

He stopped touching her damaged skin with his tongue, but kept his face still buried in her shoulder, scenting her… feeling the overwhelming mix of desire to kill her and gratitude.

“Don’t let him love you.” She said in a quiet, gentle voice, as if it was him, who needed the reassurance.

He jerked his head up and looked her in the eyes.

He didn’t make a sound, but they both understood each other perfectly.

Remy.

“Why?” He asked finally, when she refused to break the eye contact.

She pulled away from him, preparing to return to her bedroom.

“Because you can not possibly love him back, and Remy deserves so much better than a man that just wanted a replacement.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to say that she didn’t know anything, but no words came out. Because they both knew, that she was right.

He could never fall in love with Remy.

Angel watched her retreating back, trying to remember her name and when it came to him, he called after her.

“Rush!”

She stopped and turned her head a little, her back still to him.

“Thank you.” He said softly, knowing she would hear him in the early morning silence of the old hotel.

She nodded, accepting the gratitude and not pretending that it was easy. Now they were bound to each other by blood, but it was worth it.

Just before returning to the room she shared with Wesley, she saw Doyle from the corner of her eye. The young Irishman was standing near the office she left Angel in, looking at its sole occupant with a strangely intense look on his face.

Not for the first time, she wondered if there was more than simple friendship between those two, back when Doyle was still alive.

Now he wanted her here, in Los Angeles, wanting her to do something. At first she thought she was needed to save Angel, but now she wasn’t so sure. There was a certain aura of… waiting, expectation from Doyle that made her believe that something else was bound to happen.

They just had to wait.

* * *

Wesley opened his eyes, looking around the unfamiliar room and trying to remember how he ended up in here.

Then it all came back to him. Angel, his soul, Remy and Rush. He remembered the nauseating fear and shock at seeing Angel literally rip her throat out and then the pain of cutting his own wrist. And those endless minutes when he waited for any sign from Rush that she was alive.

And when she woke up……

Wesley sat up suddenly and looked around, for the first time noticing that he was naked and smelling the unmistakable scent of sex still lingering in the air.

He breathed out a sigh of relief when he noticed Rush, sitting curled on one of the overstuffed chairs near the bed, dressed only in his shirt, with her knees drawn up to her chin.

Watching him with those distressingly beautiful eyes.

“Hi.” She called softly and uncurled herself from her position on the chair.

Bewildered and feeling a little… unsure in the face of the dreaded ‘morning after’ Wesley was able only to nod and repeat her soft greeting.

“Hi.” He felt some of the painful, nervous knots in his stomach uncurl when she smiled back at him. It couldn’t be so bad after all, she was still smiling. “How long have you been awake?”

“Few hours. Couldn’t sleep. It’s still early.”

Wesley pulled himself up on the bed, keeping the sheet tightly over his waist, feeling strangely shy. She was so much younger than him and still, it was the ex-Watcher that felt like a debauched virgin.

“How’s Angel?” He asked before he could stop himself and wished he didn’t, immediately. The expression in her eyes changed, from laziness to thoughtfulness and he felt suddenly too exposed, too vulnerable to be seen like this.

She left the chair and Wes couldn’t not look at her legs– long, perfectly shaped and tanned. She was beautiful in a strange, exotic way. Not like Cordelia who caused all the men to look at her. No, Rush was different, she seemed to have this strangely erotic and thoughtful aura around herself that brought attention to her.

Slowly, she approached the bed and sat on the edge, her naked thigh touching Wesley’s through the thin sheet. She touched his cheek, revealing in the feel, a twelve hour stubble, smiling lightly at the sound of it rasping under her gentle fingers.

Wesley froze in place. It had been so incredibly long, since he’d been touched with any kind of gentleness at all. He wanted to turn his head away, hide his face from those violet eyes that seemed to see so much, but he craved the contact so badly, that it left him frozen.

She traced his cheekbones, looking at him in a way that reached to something, he thought would always be unreachable inside him. He felt his eyes closing as her fingers traveled down his face, lingering on his lips, causing them to part. He flicked his tongue out, tasting her skin without even thinking about it.

She tasted a little bit like him and it made his body react harder than he would have expected.

She ghosted her fingers, now slightly moist down his neck, till they finally rested on his collarbone.

“You’re in love with him.” She stated, not asked and Wesley’s eyes flew open in shock.

“No! You are mistaken. I.. It’s…”

“It’s true.” She cut in with such calmness in her voice, such self assurance that he just couldn’t lie to her.

Wesley turned his face away from her sharply and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, getting up in a smooth, fast move that he wasn’t even aware he was capable of.

Keeping the sheet wrapped tightly around his waist, he made to reach his discarded clothing, still lying on the floor, but her hand on his wrist stopped him.

Rush didn’t move from the position on the bed, looking up at him, her violet eyes mesmerizing in their intensity and still a little unreadable. He spent the whole night with this woman, making love to her with more passion and intensity than he’d felt in years and he still couldn’t read her at all.

What kind of Watcher was he?

“You don’t have to hide it. Not with me.” Her voice was gentle, yet insistent and Wes was painfully aware that she knew exactly how he felt; she was like a shrink that had already diagnosed the illness and now was treating it. He felt incredibly vulnerable knowing that she saw right through him and he didn’t even know her last name.

“Let go.” He said, his voice rougher than he remembered it.

“Don’t keep it all inside. It’ll only cause you pain…”

Suddenly something snapped inside him, the overly patient tone of voice she used reminded him of his father that mocked him mercilessly, always speaking to him in this patronizing, painfully humiliating voice. Part of him knew that she didn’t want to hurt him, she just tried to avoid fighting with him, but all of the stress of the previous night, all the fear and adrenaline that he felt that had never been expressed, never really left his body and now it all exploded in him.

With speed born of anger, he whirled around, letting go of the sheet and catching Rush by the shoulders. Sharply he thrust her backwards, until she landed on her back on the bed, him above her. His hands were pinning her shoulders to the bed with a painful grip, his face millimeters from hers as he hissed, shaking her:

“What do you know about pain little girl? What do you know about darkness that waits for you each time you close your eyes?!” He noted her eyes, wide with shock and a little bit of fear, his nostrils were filled with her scent, still laced with sex and he crushed her lips, not waiting for any response from her. He wasn’t asking for permission like the night before, he wasn’t caressing… he was demanding, forcing his entry and she yielded with a helpless whimper.

A sudden, salty tang in his mouth was like a bucket of cold water on his head and he jerked away from her, staring in shock at the broken, lightly bleeding lip of his lover.

Ashamed and terrified, he turned his eyes to meet hers. Never in his life had he attacked a woman, especially one that was intimate with him. Never. And now this…

Her eyes were still wide, traces of shock and mild fear still evident, but there was also something different.

Desire, admiration… lust.

“I’m terribly sorry…” He started but she silenced him again, putting her fingers to his lips. He noticed the red marks left by his fingers and he knew there would be finger shaped bruises in a few hours, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Shh…” She crooned gently “I know more about darkness than I would like. I do understand Wes… you don’t have to explain…” With that she pulled him into another, more gentle kiss and threaded her fingers through his already mussed hair.

From the beginning, she sensed some ferality, darkness in him… and now, seeing this darker side of him, she was impressed and even more captivated. He was beautiful and dangerous… and she wanted him badly. So she closed her eyes and let herself go.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12

Remy looked up at the approaching woman and smiled; seeing that Rush seemed well, despite the white bandage on her neck.

Without a word he started making breakfast for her. He watched from the corner of his eye as she rummaged through the surprisingly well stocked fridge. When she found what Remy had seen earlier, the bags of blood, she didn’t react in any other way than stopping for a brief second, before ignoring them completely.

He waited until she sat by the table, before speaking.

“I came to check on you last night.” He said gently, aware of the sudden stillness in her.

“Oh.”

“Oui. Dat was kinda what I thought also.”

He put the plates on the table, pouring some hot coffee for himself and some sweet tea for her.

They ate in easy silence. Remy waited patiently till she decided just how much she wanted him to know.

“Wesley… is a man of many faces.” she said cautiously.

Remy took a swallow of his coffee and looked at her, his eyes glowing faintly.

“Dangerous.” he said equally soft.

She only smiled at him, her face lighting up in a genuine smile.

“Yes. Intelligent, loyal to a fault.. dangerous.. and you know I always had a soft spot for that. I did like you, didn’t I? Besides,” She continued, while eating calmly, “he does look good, doesn’t he?”

Remy laughed out loud and the mischief in her face.

“I wouldn’t turn him down either, Chere.”

She threw a crumpled napkin at him.

“You’re so easy.” Rush said with genuine affection.

He wiggled his eyebrow at her and smiled a crooked, sexy grin.

“Non Chere, jus’ like my life hot an’ spicy.”

“You can have your life as you like it, just not with Wes,” She paused, waiting for Remy to take another sip of coffee before continuing “Well, not without me anyway. I do think that I could watch.”

Remy choked on his coffee, spluttering and coughing, trying desperately to swallow and laugh at the same time.

“The only thing that I wonder about is who would end up on top? He can be really forceful if he forgets his stern, English upbringing.”

With a last choked cough, Remy regained some measure of control and glared at her across the table.

“Dat wasn’t nice Chere.”

“Like you wouldn’t propose something like that.”

Remy just smiled at her and said nothing. She was right, he was just waiting for an occasion to make her blush.

“Touché.” He acknowledged her victory.

“So… what are you doing here in L.A. in the first place? I thought you were involved in something in New York.”

Rush immediately regretted her question. The way Remy looked away from her, lowering his head so that the soft, auburn bangs would hide his face spoke volumes.

“What happened?” She asked softly, feeling the hurt coming from her friend.

“Too much.” It was the only answer Remy gave her, and it said both too much and not enough.

“I thought you had friends there.”

He looked at her again, this time his eyes were hard, an expression she rarely associated with his face.

Coldness and anger. Something very bad must have happened.

“We are not friends anymore. I doubt we ever were.”

“I am sorry.” She didn’t know what more to say.

“But I… I thought you had someone there.” Rush continued.

Remy looked at his hands, his face as unreadable as stone.

Logan.

“I thought dat too. But I was mistaken.”

Rush felt guilty for dragging that out, for causing him pain, even if unintentionally. She got up and circled the table. When she stopped in front of him, Remy was still staring down on his hands, his shoulders tense. The sheer amount of pain he projected broke her heart.

She outstretched her arms, waiting for him and after a moment, with a sigh, Remy gave up. He stood up from the table and let her hug him.

“I’m so sorry Remy. I wanted you to have somebody…”

He just nodded against her, accepting the gentle comfort as best as he could.

“T’anks mon ami. I needed dat.” He whispered as if speaking aloud would break the mood. Then he lowered his head and kissed her softly, chastely on the lips. They were both naturally affectionate people and there was no danger she would misinterpret this gesture.

A sudden sound from the doorway caught their attention, and Rush hissed sharply seeing Wes standing there, his face pale and eyes so dark, she couldn’t read them at all.

* * *

Wes stood there, frozen in place, watching as the woman that had made love to him so passionately was kissing another man. The bed she left wasn’t even cold yet, and she was already in the arms of another.

Why it didn’t really surprise him, was clear now. He never believed she wanted him, it was all to clear to him that she would turn on him the first chance she got. He’d just hoped that it would happen a little later.

He was always their second choice, he knew. Always the one to turn to when all the better choices were lost. Good ol’ Wes. You could just use him and when he was not needed anymore, you could always throw him away.

It was a good thing he hadn’t believed her…

/Did you?/ asked a mocking voice in his head.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Lying to himself was almost an art now. While his brain kept reminding him about all the times when he was used, his heart wanted to believe that for the first time somebody wanted him for real…

In that moment, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t hit her if he stayed there for one more second, because the rage, the anger that surged through his body was more than that. He wanted to kill her, wanted to make her hurt just like she caused him to hurt with her callous actions.

He turned sharply away and dashed out of the kitchen.

He heard her calling behind, but the red haze in front of his eyes threatened to swallow him if he stopped and even looked at her again.

However, she didn’t take the hint. She caught up with him and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around.

He did it so suddenly, with such fury in his movements that she automatically stepped back.

Rush briefly wondered why she’d never backed off from Angel in his Game face, approaching her just hours after his ripped her neck and almost killed her, but at the sight of those dark, angry eyes she backed off so quickly?

“Wes. It isn’t what you think. Remy is my friend it was…”

“Stop!” He screamed at her, his face contracting into a mask of fury.

God, he wanted to hurt her so badly…

“It was nice to meet you Miss, but I have more pressing matters to attend to.” Wes was shocked at how calm and even his voice sounded, truthful almost.

He watched her face go pale in a kind of detached, grim satisfaction and turned to leave, not waiting for her to regain any kind of control, the door slamming loudly behind him.

* * *

Remy watched helplessly as the Englishman stormed from the hotel. Rush stood there shocked, still and with only dawning understanding.

“Fuck you Wesley!” She screamed at the closed door, her voice cracking at the last word. Remy didn’t need to see her face to know she was crying. “You didn’t even try to listen… you just judged… fuck you!” She finished when dry, painful sobs wracked her and turned on her heel, running for the stairs.

Remy wanted to go after her, to comfort her, but he knew her enough to realize that it was the worst thing he could do. She wasn’t good at accepting comfort, mostly she preferred to give it. But when somebody saw her in her weakest moment, she treated that as a line not to be crossed.

He thumped his head on the wall. And to think that he really considered leaving the X-Men as a decision to make his life simpler.

He wanted to take Wesley by the perfectly ironed collar of his shirt and shake him, until the man realized how stupid it was to let his insecurities affect his life and judgment in such a way. He also knew why Rush overreacted in such a way. But she wasn’t a hysteric in nature. She would probably cry for some time, destroy some furniture and then become calm again. She wasn’t one for keeping grudges for too long. Wesley could be another matter, though.

Remy rubbed his forehead. He was an empath, but he couldn’t make his own relationships work. What in hell was he supposed to do to make someone’s relationships work? It was insanity.

* * *

Spike kicked the tombstone, muttering obscene curses and watching as the stone crumbled under his preternatural strength.

“Fuck it all!”

He had enough of the Slayer and her Scooby gang. They kept making fun of him, knowing that because of that soddin’ chip in his head, he couldn’t do anything to them.

He promised himself that the day he got this chip out, he would rip their hearts out and make a cute little decoration of them.

What right they had to treat him as something less than them? He was one hundred and twenty years old and they? They were just fucking children, stupid, ignorant fucks that deserved only to be killed slowly and painfully.

Right now he only wanted to get back to his crypt and get seriously drunk.

The sudden scent of a human stopped him short.

It was four in the morning, an unlikely hour for visitors.

By the scent, he could tell that it wasn’t anyone familiar.

“What the hell…” He trailed off when he saw a beautiful, dark red haired woman, dressed in fancy clothes, standing in front of his crypt.

She measured his leather duster and platinum hair.

“Mr. Spike a.k.a. William the Bloody I suppose?”

“No, Santa Claus! Who the fuck you are?”

The bint smiled at him menacingly.

“My name is Lilah Morgan and I represent someone that would like you to come with us”

Spike snorted and vamped out, all the time aware of the word ‘us’ she used. It meant that she wasn’t alone.

“Well bitch, I’m not going anywhere”

She didn’t back off at his snarling face.

“Put away the fangs. I know about the chip. You are… how to call it… neutered?”

Spike had a flash of really bad feelings about this.

The bint nodded and he smelled other humans before he actually saw the eight men coming from behind the crypt.

“Fuck!”

As much as he hated it, he took a step back. If they were demons, he would have taken them down in minutes, but against humans… he was absolutely helpless.

They were closing on him from every side and there really was no escape for him. Spike kept his Game face on, trying to intimidate even if it was just an idle threat.

The impasse didn’t last long. Finally, one of the thugs attacked.

Spike dodged the blow and moved with preternatural speed to avoid another man and cursed when his fist connected painfully with his ribs.

He whirled around trying not to hit any of the humans, mindful of the agony that would sear through his brain if he did.

Quickly, he understood that there really was no chance for him to escape. The way the men circled him, their stance clearly spoke of seasoned warriors; of their strength and his weakness.

Spike snarled at them and decided that he would not let himself be taken against his will again. Once the Initiative did that and look what it gave him. Fucking chip in his head and being vulnerable to such weak things as humans. Him, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers was living at the mercy of his food for God’s sake! How much lower could a vampire get? He’d killed two Slayers! Drained them ‘till the last of their blood was inside him, giving him more strength than he’d ever experienced. He was a master vampire, had an army of minions at his back once… and now he was helping the Slayer, because otherwise, he would already be dead. Well fuck that, he would not allow himself to be dragged somewhere by humans again.

This time he would take as many as possible. Faster than his chip had the time to react, he roared and jumped between two of the soldiers, his fingers-turned-claws ripped both their throats in less than a heartbeat. He wanted to laugh in glee, but the sudden, sharp agony that shot through his brain sent him to his knees, screaming in pain, his eyes screwed shut and fists still closed over the remnants of the man’s throats.

He was sure he was going to die. He had never before felt such an agony. He had never before killed a human with the device in his head, the very attempt too painful.

Now the chip kept firing over and over again, never giving him a second of respite. It felt as if someone was burning his mind from the inside. He saw white and red spots in front of his eyes, his face kept shifting from demon to human and back again. He lost control of his body, wasn’t even aware of his screams, and the blood that started flowing from his ears and nose.

It was such excoriating agony that he lost any awareness of his surroundings. The pain given to him by the chip was so strong that he didn’t even notice when the men, seeing him suddenly as a threat, started shooting at him.

The bullets couldn’t kill him, but they could wound him and the fact that he hadn’t eaten any human blood in months hadn’t helped at all.

After they shot him, they gathered around him and started kicking him furiously, in revenge for the death of their companions.

Meanwhile, Lilah just stood there and watched the pale, crumpled form of the vampire. She didn’t interfere. Everything was okay as long as they didn’t stake him.

He would heal… eventually.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13

Angel looked around the pub. It was dark and quiet with cigarette smoke thick in the air. It smelled of alcohol and despair. A kind of place that people came to drink themselves into a stupor, to forget about the world outside.

He tested the air and could easily smell Wesley there. His personal scent was laced with alcohol and anger. Angel turned slowly around, watching the patrons. Looking for his friend. Finally, he saw him in the darkest corner of the pub, sitting alone at the table, a sole glass and a bottle of whiskey in front of him.

Almost empty.

Angel approached the ex-Watcher slowly and sat on the chair opposite him.

“What do you want?”

If Angel was surprised at the harshness of the question, he didn’t show it.

“Remy sent me here.” He answered truthfully.

Wesley snorted, but remained quiet, drowning another shot of whiskey.

Angel waited in case Wes started talking, but the Englishman didn’t even look at him.

“Wes,” Angel waited till the ex-Watcher looked up at him before continuing. “You of all people should know that not everything is what it seems.”

There was a flash of hurt in Wesley’s blue eyes, quickly followed by anger.

“I am perfectly aware of the way ‘things’ are. Thank you for your concern, but I would appreciate if you left me alone.”

Angel sighed. He was so not good at this! He tried to explain to Remy that he was the worst possible person to act as a referee between Wes and Rush, but Remy insisted that he knew the ex-Watcher while Remy didn’t. Frankly, he still wasn’t sure just how Remy got him to agree to this, but the fact that they were having mind blowing sex at the time probably had something to it.

“Please Wesley. Talk to me or to Rush.”

“Angel, it really isn’t your concern. I do not wish to speak to you about my personal life, and I do not need any advice in that matter, especially from you.”

The vampire winced. It seemed that alcohol was really doing a good job lowering Wesley’s inhibitions.

“Talk to her Wes,”

The ex-Watcher sighed and put his glass down.

“And why, pray tell, are you interested in all this?”

Angel kept his slightly hazy gaze, frankly surprised at the level of Wesley’s coherence after drinking so much.

“Because I care Wes. I don’t have many friends... but I consider you one of them.”

The Englishman turned his eyes away, swallowing thickly. When Rush accused him of being in love with Angel, she was right. He had been infatuated with the souled vampire for years.

“Thank you… but still, Rush and me.. it is none of your business. I really don’t know why you are so insistent.”

“You made love. I could hear you and even… smell you...”

Wesley blushed furiously in equal measure from embarrassment and something else, something he didn’t even want to name. Still he was surprised that Angel mentioned it at all. He was a very private person and speaking about something as intimate as sex just wasn’t in the vampire’s nature.

“Angel…” Started Wesley hesitantly, but the vampire interrupted him.

“I think that by sitting here, drowning your sorrows in whiskey instead of talking to Rush, you are missing a chance for something good.” There was sadness and regret in Angel’s voice.

“You speak as if it was me that broke this… whatever it was between me and her. Why? You know what I saw.”

“You saw a friendly kiss, nothing more. Besides, I seriously doubt that any woman would treat her first lover so lightly.” Angel stopped when he registered the shock on Wesley’s face.

“What?!”

Angel blinked.

“You didn’t know?” Angel asked incredulously.

Wes opened and closed his mouth a few times before he was able to speak again.

“You… you must be… mistaken ...” Wesley thought about her calmness and the sensual was she seduced him. There was no hesitation in her at all, only focus and desire. She knew perfectly well what she was doing. “You can not be right. She… she knew perfectly well just what she was doing.”

The vampire looked at him with those old, dark, soulful eyes.

“The fact that she was a virgin doesn’t mean she was na?ve or inexperienced in any way.”

“But how… how can you be so sure?”

“I drank her blood. I could taste it. After all… I am a vampire. My kind can learn a lot about humans just by the taste of their blood. You were a Watcher, you know it.”

This time Wes didn’t ask Angel if he was sure. All the Watcher training he ever had told him that Angel was telling the truth. He could not be mistaken.

Slowly, the realization of how badly he overreacted dawned on him and he moaned softly. Angel was right, he had probably lost a chance for something good in his life.

Angel watched the changes on his friend’s face and the pain there. He wanted to say something, anything that would ease this turmoil, say that everything would be all right, but the truth was, he couldn’t be sure. Finally, he came up with the only true words of comfort he could find.

“Go talk to her. She isn’t a person that is easily scared.” He thought about that strange meeting in his office when she allowed him so close, barely hours after he’d ripped her throat apart.

“Where…”

“She’s still at the hotel. Come back when you are sober and presentable enough. I am sure she won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”

Wesley only nodded, thinking how bad he had screwed up this time. He wasn’t sure if a single conversation would be enough. He did what he’d always hated in others. He judged the book by the cover.

* * *

Remy was sitting on a windowsill in Angel’s suite and he watched the darkness outside. He considered briefly walking into the night and loosing himself in its anonymity.

It would have been so easy. Just go down the stairs, take this trench coat and leave it all behind.

Leave Angel with his deep rooted pain and longing for something Remy hadn’t yet decided.

Leave Rush and her insecure lover. He had never seen his friend so drawn to a man before and, to be true, he didn’t like the Englishman with her a bit. He had nothing against him personally. He recognized the courage and loyalty in him. It wasn’t jealousy either. He loved Rush, but like a friend. He wasn’t ‘in’ love with her. Still he thought that she needed someone stable and gentle to balance her own unstable, often volatile, extremely instinctual character.

Wesley was even more unpredictable than she was. Together they could either make themselves really happy… or destroy each other, hurting so deeply that nothing could ever heal them again.

Remy heard the door to the suite open, but he didn’t turn away from the window. He watched the endless river of cars, their lights like falling stars, bright, vibrant and short lived, making colorful ribbons of light on the streets below.

He heard Angel taking his leather coat off and then approaching him. He knew the vampire stood only a hairsbreadth behind him, smelling of leather and cigarette smoke, but he couldn’t sense any body heat from him. What surprised him, was his easy acceptance of the fact his other senses, that were honed through all the years spent as an X-man and Master Thief, were now tracking his dark lover with ease.

Without a word he leaned back, finding his back connecting with the hard chest just like he expected. And if there was a flash of memory, of another, equally hard chest, in his mind, he refused to think about it.

“Hi.” He murmured softly, feeling the powerful arms come around him.

“Hi.” Answered the equally soft voice, just behind his ear, no breath touching his skin.

“Did you find Wesley?”

Angel sighed, pulling Remy closer.

“Yes, Alone in a bar, drinking probably for hours, but still surprisingly sober. He must have a stronger head than most humans.” Angel said thoughtfully.

“Or maybe more practice?”

Angel thought about all the things that had happened these last years and all the things that Wesley thought he was responsible for.

He agreed silently to Remy’s statement, but the knowledge that he wasn’t aware of Wesley’s tendency to drink was unsettling. He knew that the ex-Watcher had an inferiority complex, that he tended to withdraw into himself, but he never suspected that something as trivial as drinking could be Wes’s problem.

“Don’t brood.” Remy admonished him gently. “He won’t let dis t’ing slip from his control.”

Angel pushed his hand into the mass of silky hair and mussed it, earning a growl from Remy.

The Cajun started to turn around to swat at Angel playfully, when he felt powerful arms around his chest tighten and then the world turned around.

Angel used his preternatural strength to throw Remy across the room towards the bed, encased in blood red, satin sheets.

The Cajun registered his orientation in a matter of seconds and twisted his body in air, turning so that he landed in a harmless, perfectly controlled roll on the bed.

With a huff, Remy blew his hair out of his face and glared at Angel across the room.

“Jus’ what is dat suppose to mean?!” He hissed and then yelped, when faster than even he could react, Angel was at the foot of the bed, strong hands gripping Remy’s hips and flipping him on his back in one, smooth movement, simultaneously pulling his sweats off his hips and tearing them away.

Remy stilled, lying only in a tee shirt on the blood red satin sheets, feeling their coolness and slickness under his hot skin and staring at the vampire above him.

Angel stopped moving also, hovering over Remy’s penis and staring in his red on black eyes. He did nothing, only kept that alien gaze locked on him and waited. The tension between them was palpable and the smell of pheromones was permeating the air.

Angel’s nostrils flared when from nothing more than his gaze, the Cajun’s cock started filling, slowly thickening against one long, graceful thigh.

Letting a small, dangerous grin to tug at his lips, Angel licked his lips never really breaking the stare. He could almost taste the pheromones pouring off of the younger man, and still he did nothing.

Remy refused to beg, but in frustration, made an attempt to move his hands towards his now urgent erection, but with a growl Angel caught his hands and intertwined their fingers, effectively pinning them to the bed.

Then, without any warning he leaned down and flicked his tongue over the swollen, dark red cockhead, tasting the flushed skin. Remy gasped, and arched desperate for more.

Angel switched his hold on Remy’s hand to one hand and freed his other hand, still keeping Remy pinned to the bed with enough force that he would stay that way, even if he was fighting his position.

Grinning in that half-evil way and still staring Remy straight in the eye, he bent down and flicked just the tip of his tongue over the highly sensitive head, enjoying the way Remy arched, keeping his mouth tightly shut as not to make any sound. Angel loved a challenge.

He took hold of the straining organ, now standing vertically and with quick, precise movements, stabbed his tongue into the tiny hole at the tip, simultaneously squeezing the hard shaft and then let go, enjoying the hitched breath and swallowed moan that Remy struggled to keep inside.

“Give up Remy. I am going to make you beg and you know it.”

Remy only shook his head, refusing to give up. He could feel his belly tensing, feeling incredibly exposed lying almost naked on the bed, with a fully clothed man holding his erection in his hand and doing nothing more than staring at him. A slight tremor ran through his body and he could feel a single drop of pre-come appearing in the slit, wetting the flushed skin and making him shiver when the cool breath of his dark lover touched it, cooling the skin.

“Merde!” He hissed when, without any preamble, Angel engulfed the hot, urgent erection in his cool, moist mouth in one move. Instantly, Angel started swallowing around him in rapid succession, driving the cock even deeper into his throat using the fact that he didn’t need to breathe.

Remy bucked and screamed at the too intense, almost painful sensation, but Angel refused to let him go, only making his sucking stronger, swallowing rapidly and flicking his tongue all over the sensitive underside.

Finally, Remy stopped fighting Angel’s hold and closed his eyes with a deep, desire-filled moan, relaxing into the pleasure his lover gave him with every skilled flick of that cool tongue to his burning need and each contraction of that tight throat.

Remy was vaguely aware that he was mumbling something, shouting even when Angel would withdraw completely and only lap at the very tip of his cock with his tongue; giving him no satisfaction.

His lover waited until Remy was reduced to a shivering, quivering mass of pure need before finally giving in and starting a fast, bobbing rhythm with his head. The Cajun was so lost in his pleasure, in the tension that gathered in his thighs and crept higher, pulling his balls closer to his body, that he didn’t even notice a single, wet finger touching his exposed opening, circling the puckered opening before plunging in and hitting his prostate with expertise born from centuries of practice.

Remy howled when he felt the pressure on his prostate and the never easing suction around his incredibly swollen cock and with a final scream, he exploded into his lover’s throat.

Angel swallowed his lover’s release, relishing in the warmth and scent of Remy and then kept licking tenderly at the rapidly softening organ, easing Remy slowly down from his orgasm.

When the Cajun whimpered in protest, his cock too sensitive right now, Angel let it go and settled himself on the bed, his head resting on Remy’s hip.

As the room grew quiet, the last of the moans of pleasure fading, Remy’s breathing returning to normal, Angel asked:

“Who is Logan?”

 

tbc


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14

Remy’s post-coital relaxation disappeared at once. His body tensed and Angel could almost hear the sound of walls snapping up.

“Who?” Asked Remy with his eyes now wary.

Angel sighed and rolled from his lovers legs to rest on his side with his head propped on his elbow. This position exposed the bunched muscles of his chest and arms, a clear statement of Angel’s pure physical might. And if it reminded Remy of somebody else, somebody much shorter and with a lot more hair and attitude, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Logan. You just called me by his name. It’s happened a few times already. I’m not angry. Just curious.” And it was truth. He wasn’t angry. His usual possessiveness was far away now. Somehow, when his soul was connected to him permanently, he changed. In some matters, he was more human than ever before, but he also felt that he was closer to his demon than he felt was safe. Usually, his demon made him extremely possessive of his lovers, destroying everything that could ever draw them away from him. Now, he didn’t feel that dark need hovering over him.

He cared for Remy, wanted him constantly, but it was not a violent kind of feeling. Somehow the Cajun made him… calm and made him heal. Slowly, the deep gashes inside him started to heal. He knew that he would have to let Remy go… but not right now, not too soon.

First, he needed to learn what was causing such shadows in his face. Why did he whisper and moan the name ‘Logan’ in his sleep and then pretend he didn’t know it at all?

Remy looked at him with something akin to horror on his face. It couldn’t be! He couldn’t have called Angel by Logan’s name! It was impossible, he hadn’t even thought about the feral Canadian in days!

/Liar!/ Screamed that part of his mind that wouldn’t allow him to lie to himself. /You have never really stopped thinking about the man!/

“M’sorry” Whispered Remy, swinging his legs to the side and sitting up. “Dis won’t happen again.”

Angel caught his arm before Remy had the time to stand up.

“I wasn’t asking for apologies. Who is he?” Somehow Angel had the feeling that this man was very important to Remy.

“Nobody.”

Angel squeezed his arm harder, clearly showing that he would not let Remy go before he answered.

“Let go.”

“No. Tell me who Logan is.”

Remy jerked in his grip once more, testing Angel’s hold on him and then turned.

Angel expected some angry words, embarrassment, laughter even. What he didn’t expect at all was the surprisingly strong right hook that connected with his jaw so hard it caused him to see stars for a moment.

Stunned and surprised, he let go of the Cajun that hissed at him with eyes burning crimson fire.

“Told y’ to let go!” With that Remy stormed out of the room.

The vampire sat on the bed massaging his sore jaw and licking the blood from his broken lip. His eyes flashed gold for a brief moment, he looked down at his unrelieved erection tenting his trousers and then a slow grin made its way to his face.

Ever since he’d learned that his soul was firmly in place he felt… liberated. He didn’t have to only suffer, to deny his demon nature constantly. He could have some measure of happiness in his life, he could combine the requirements of human life with his demonic part. He could still keep helping people, but not because he wanted to atone for his crimes only, but because he actually wanted to help and he could do it.

He got up, tracing Remy’s steps with his preternatural hearing and smiled. Remy was one hell of a temperamental being and he had obviously hit a sore spot. Well, he could use a good fight with somebody that actually knew what he was doing, and he thought that Remy would also feel better after letting some steam off.

Besides, he always loved playing with fire.

Angel only wondered if Remy was aware of the fact that all of his bruises had healed already? After only twenty four hours?

 

* * *  
Lyrics: Naked by Avril Lavigne  
* * *

 

Wesley didn’t know how long he stood in the darkness, just few feet from the door and watched Rush.

She sat on the floor in lotus position, for what seemed endless minutes. The only movement she made was the gentle raise and fall of her chest. Her eyes were closed and hair loose. She looked incredibly beautiful in the light of a single candle.

She also looked incredibly unapproachable. She seemed almost perfect, not subject to failure… Not like him.

He was a man of the words. He studied them, learned them, spoke them and believed in them. But now, in this moment, when his chance for something with her depended on this one conversation, he couldn’t find those precious words that would set things straight between them.

How could he tell her that she was just too… perfect for him? He was such a failure, such an ordinary man. He felt that if he let himself go just a little bit more he would love her. Just like he let himself fall in love with Angel. Both of them were extraordinary, with strength inside them that went far beyond any human understanding.

Every time he watched her, every time she touched him with gentleness and care that no one ever had before, he felt that someday, sometime she would look at him, really look at him and think that she could do better. That he was no good.

He looked at the far wall, and the sound system installed there. Angel usually listened to classic music, but he had heard different sounds from this room. Slowly, he approached the shelves and started leafing through the vast collection of CD’s.

He had to tell her so many things, so many painful things, that he didn’t really understand it yet. He knew only one thing. That if she left now, he would loose his only chance on happiness. He loved Angel with a force and loyalty that belied any reason, but he also knew that Angel would never love him back. Not in the way he really wanted the vampire to. Rush, however, could. She made him act like the man he always wanted to be.

A strong man.

She showed him that he could rouse passion in another, that he could be desired and it warmed places in his heart that had been cold for so incredibly long.

Finally, he found the song he needed and put the CD on. Rush didn’t move as the first sounds filled the eerily quiet room.

//I wake up in the morning  
Put on my face  
The one that's gonna get me  
Through another day  
Doesn't really matter  
How I feel inside  
'Cause life is like a game sometimes//

How could he tell her that when she looks at him, he feels as if her eyes reach deep into him, exposing every fear, every insecurity that he ever had? How to tell her that she made him so incredibly vulnerable, that it terrified him more than the darkness he saw each day?

//But then you came around me  
The walls just disappeared  
Nothing to surround me  
And keep me from my fears  
I'm unprotected  
See how I've opened up  
Oh, you've made me trust//

How to tell her that she gave him hope again? How to tell her that he’d felt himself fall lower and lower into his own world of despair before she came and dragged him out into the light again? How to tell her that he’d never met a person that wouldn’t want to use him in any way?

Everyone, his parents, his friends, his lovers… even Angel used him and he let them, because it made him feel needed at least a little. How to tell her that he didn’t know how to look at people and not see the reasons behind their actions?

But she was different. Wesley couldn’t see her reasons, couldn’t look through her and see what she wanted from him. And it terrified him. It was so much easier when people came to get something from him. At least he knew where he stood with them. With Rush he felt like a teenager: unsure, stupid and clumsy.

//Because I've never felt like this before  
I'm naked  
Around you  
Does it show?  
You see right through me  
And I can't hide  
I'm naked  
Around you  
And it feels so right//

He listened to the words and judging by the subtle shift in her position, she did also.

It hurt to show so much of himself and he was worried if she would understand the choice of music. If she would forgive…

//I'm trying to remember  
Why I was afraid  
To be myself and let the  
Covers fall away  
I guess I never had someone like you  
To help me, to help me fit  
In my spirit//

She rose up in one graceful, fluid, not entirely human movement and stood still, her back to him. But there was something changed in her. Some feeling of inapproachability was lost from the aura she exuded.

“I’m sorry.”

She did not turn to him, but she was still listening.

“I… I think I was afraid.”

Finally, she turned to look at him. Her violet eyes shining lightly in the gloom of the room.

“Afraid of what?” She asked softly, no more anger in her voice.

Wesley looked away, unable to look her in the eyes any longer.

“Of you.”

There was a long silence after that.

“Why?”

Wes listened to the song for a moment before he replied, looking at her again, a mix of emotions in his face that he just couldn’t place.

“You strip all my defenses as if they were made of paper. One word, one look from you and I am naked and vulnerable in front of you. You see things in me I managed to hide from the world for years… and I don’t know anything about you. Because I don’t understand you… Because you hold the power to destroy me.”

She flinched at his last words and this time it was Rush that averted her eyes. It wasn’t exactly the words that brought the flinch, it was the pain behind them. Once again she saw too much, her unique power making her see through people, causing her to loose the sight of the person as it really was. She saw the forest, but she couldn’t see the tree.

“I guess I also should apologize. I never wanted this kind of power over you.”

“No.” Wesley said firmly. “My fear is not your responsibility.”

“Was that the reason you didn’t even ask what happened? Just… judged me already?”

“I was afraid Rush, afraid to hear the rejection one more time. I was terrified that you used me… that it meant nothing for you.”

“It meant a lot to me. You are the first man I really wanted, the first that caused me to break my own rules.”

Wesley closed his eyes and cursed softly under his breath. Angel was right. She did take him as her first lover and it made him feel… humble. To be given something as irreplaceable as that, without anything wanted in return.

He listened to the soft, sensual music drifting from the speakers and made his way hesitantly towards her. When they were at arms reach, he reached his hand towards her and asked softly:

“Will you dance with me?”

She smiled, a soft, gentle smile that was so strange on such a young face and stepped into his arms, letting Wes lead her to the gentle rhythm.

//I never felt like this before  
I'm naked  
Around you  
Does it show?  
You see right through me  
And I can't hide  
I'm naked  
Around you  
And it feels so right//

He closed his eyes and pressed his nose to her silky hair, smelling her unique scent, trying to edge it on his memory.

“Don’t be afraid Wesley.” She murmured softly against his neck. “I am not going to leave you. I promise.”

“Thank you”

They both knew that the words had much more meaning than the superficial.

She just nodded against his neck again and closed her eyes, enjoying the soft swaying.

As long as they were talking to each other, everything would be all right.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Part 15

Angel slowly made his way down the stairs to the basement. He wondered just when Remy had the time to check out the lower regions of the hotel and find the training room?

He adjusted his trousers, still very much aware of his unsatisfied arousal. This evening he felt more in tune with himself than ever before. He still could feel the demon, Angelus, inside him, but his soul was there also, stronger than ever. He was strangely balanced. He still had the dark desires for pain and violence, but the soul tempered them so that they weren’t crossing the line. From what he saw in Remy, he knew that the Cajun wasn’t vanilla either. The question was how far would he go?

Silently, he stepped into the large room with wooden floor. There was only one lamp on, giving only a little light, but enough to see Remy standing with his back to Angel. Still by the tension in his arms, the way his head cocked to the side, Angel knew that the man sensed him. It was extraordinary just how easily Remy could sense him. Angel was sure it wasn’t hearing or sight, because no mortal would be able to hear him if he wanted to be quiet. He was a creature of shadows, of night…

“You know…” Angel started conversationally. “That right hook was not a nice answer to my question.”

Remy turned around and considered Angel for a moment. He could sense no real anger from the man. It seemed that Remy’s burst of aggression did nothing to anger him. But he was curious, still aroused and… excited.

“I don’t wanna speak about it.”

Angel leaned casually on the wall, crossing his arms in front of him. The silk, black shirt stretched over his powerful torso and highlighted the hard, bunched muscles under the soft skin.

“You told me once that you are a gambler,”

Remy nodded warily.

“So I propose a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” The Cajun felt his curiosity stir.

“We fight. The one who gets the opponent to the floor and immobile first, wins” Explained Angel, with a strangely dangerous glint in his eyes.

Remy smiled in spite of himself.

“An’ what ex’ctly de prize is?” He drawled slowly, letting a small smile tug at his lips.

“Submission. The one who looses will answer all the questions… and do whatever the other demands.”

Remy licked his lips, letting his eyes travel the length of his dark lover, taking in all that powerful, beautiful body.

“Do you take the bet?” Angel asked, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, letting Remy see glimpses of his pale, powerful flesh.

The Cajun smiled and pulled his tee off in one movement.

“Oui.” After all, he had already taken Angel down once. He could do it again.

Angel watched as the tanned man moved to the center of the room and pulled his hair back to tie it in a low ponytail on the back of his neck.

The vampire knew why the Cajun felt so sure of himself. But he forgot one thing. When they fought earlier, Angel wasn’t really himself. He was mad from pain and acted only on instinct. Now he was going to use almost 250 years of fighting experience.

But Remy was a natural born fighter, with an agility that Angel saw only once, in another vampire – Spike. Only the blonde vampire had the matching speed and agility. And to think that Remy was still only a mortal.

Angel shucked his shirt off his shoulders, his pale flesh in stark contrast to the back material of his pants and went to weapon cabinet.

“Since you are my guest, you get to choose the weapon.”

“Bo-staff.” Answered Remy immediately. He had never met anybody that could come even close to being his match using a bo-staff. Just as being a thief, it was something in which he’d become a Master.

Angel looked longingly at the heavy, two handed sword with wickedly sharp edges and turned to the heavy bo-staff he kept for training purposes. It wasn’t his favorite weapon, but still he knew how to use it.

He had a flashback from the times when he/Angelus taught young Will how to use it in a fight. At first, Will was disgusted by the idea of fighting with a piece of staff. Give him a knife, that would be a weapon. But… that? But after only few lessons the young vampire discovered that the deceptively simple looking piece of staff could cause incredible damage and started training with ferocity that marked his whole existence, becoming a Master in a very short time.

Spike was known for killing two Vampire Slayers, which gave him the nickname- Slayer of Slayers. One of them he killed while fighting with the bo-staff. Spike would probably be surprised that Angel kept tabs on him, but he could never really let go of his Childe.

Angel shook his head and returned to reality. He closed the cabinet and threw one of the staffs towards the Cajun.

Remy caught it easily and spun it few times in front of himself before stopping and putting it behind his arm.

Once again Angel had a flash of memory, just a picture really. Of a man shorter and a little thinner than Remy, with soft saber hair and bluest eyes he had ever seen, spinning the wooden bo-staff in front of himself, laughing and changing hands over and over gain, ‘till his opponents lost count of which hand he was actually using.

Angel watched how Remy took the fighting stance and how the red on black, demon eyes, watched him carefully. He decided to show him what fighting with a Master Vampire really meant.

In a move so fast, that even Remy couldn’t see it, Angel appeared on the Cajun’s side and swung in wide arc on Remy’s legs. The Cajun managed to back-flip fast enough that he avoided the blow and rolled away from Angel.

The vampire grinned, hearing the sudden spike in his heartbeat and the smell of adrenaline filling the air. Yeah, it would be a great fun.

Remy narrowed his eyes, realizing that his arrogance could have cost him serious injury. He understood that Angel had speed and strength on his side, but not agility. It was something that gave Remy the edge.

The fight began for real. In one quick movement, Remy jumped into the air, twisting his spine in a way that humans just couldn’t and landed just behind Angel, landing a vicious blow to his lover’s back and rolling away before the vampire could react.

But Angel was used to pain and with a shout, cut Remy’s escape route and swung at him with his bo-staff. They exchanged blows in rapid succession, some landing, some being avoided. The room was filled with harsh breathing and sounds of steel on steel sending sparks to the polished, wooden floor.

After what seemed an eternity, they stopped and circled each other again. Both had bruises and scratches on their bodies, blood smeared on various places as they circled, watching the other with careful eyes.

Angel was aware of the fact that Remy was much better with the weapon, the amount of blows he managed to lay on his back were testimony of his ability and if he wanted to win, he had to disarm Remy somehow.

Remy cursed under his breath when Angel displayed his disturbing ability to just be in one place at one moment and then in another, just a heartbeat later. This time he didn’t try to hit Remy with his bo-staff, but collided with him, using his whole considerable weight to push Remy off balance, forcing them both to roll on the ground.

The Cajun landed on the floor with an ‘oof’ of air being pushed out of his lungs, but regained control quickly and landed a vicious kick to Angel’s stomach trying to roll away from him.

Angel only ‘ugh’ed and grabbed Remy’s ankle jerking him back again so strongly, that the Cajun skidded across the floor like a toy.

They rolled, landing blows, kicking and even scratching at some point, trying to gain the upper hand. However, the moment Remy lost his grip on his bo-staff, he knew whew would loose without using his charge power. But before he decided that Angel would heal from a light burn, his wrists were both seized and pressed, palms up, to the floor.

“Merde!” He hissed through a split lip when he realized that Angel already took care of that.

Angel grinned, licking blood dripping down his chin and straddled the struggling Cajun, keeping his wrists firmly pinned to the floor.

“Well, well… look what we have here. A little Cajun toy!”

Remy gave a last, furious struggle and then exhaled, letting his body relax into the hold. He lost. He couldn’t believe he lost, fighting with weapon of his choice! He felt like growling. But he settled on glaring at Angel as if it was only his fault.

“Cul!”

“Now.. play nice. You know what the deal was. You are going to be one, little.. *obedient* lover” Angel purred at him, leaning closer and bringing their lips in hard, bruising kiss that caused the split lip to bleed stronger.

His tongue explored the hot cavern of Remy’s mouth, mixing their blood together, eliciting soft, needy moaning sounds from Remy.

When Angel broke the kiss, Remy opened his slightly glazed eyes to look at him, and gasped at the sight.

Angel was sitting on his hips, his black trousers stretched over powerful thigh muscles, his chest covered with a film of sweat and his pupils were so dilated, that almost no brown was left., his eyes were dark, glittering and hypnotizing. With a smirk that send shivers down Remy’s spine Angel opened his belt and started slowly pulling the belt from the loops. One at a time, all the time looking Remy straight in the eyes.

When the belt was finally free he leaned closer to Remy again, reaching to his wrists and looked into the red on black eyes again.

“If you want to back off, do it now.” He waned softly and Remy felt another shiver run down his spine. He felt a tickle of fear, but his pride told him that he couldn’t back down now.

“You won.” He said, staring into Angel’s eyes without a blink.

Angel only smiled and tied his wrists with the strong leather in a blink of an eye.

“And I am going to take my reward.”

* * *

Logan threw his single duffel bag on the small bed and sat next to it, rubbing his face with his hands. He was tired and felt really shitty because Remy hadn’t showed the night before.

He kept driving ‘till Jean threatened him with serious bodily harm. Only that forced him to finally stop at a motel. They’d spent twelve hours on the road and Jean was barely conscious. He was also tired, exhausted from the constant worrying and thinking about Remy. The last time he saw the Cajun, the bruises on his face weren’t a good sign. He looked weak and lost- and Logan knew he needed to find him, before the thief managed to get himself into some serious trouble.

A sudden knock to his door jerked him out of his musings. One sniff of the air told him that it was Jean. She smelled… anxious.

He got up from the bed and opened the door.

Even tired, she still was one of the most beautiful women he ever saw.

“What’s up Red?” Logan asked letting her in.

Jean entered the room and then started pacing immediately, obviously worried.

“I have to go back Logan. The professor contacted me and… I am needed at the Mansion.”

Logan felt something cold settle in his stomach. Just when he got his hopes up again, she was going to… leave?

“But it’s not so bad Logan. The professor… he was also trying to find Remy. He got something last night.”

“What? How?”

“It seems that he had been scanning big US cities. He got a faint trace of him in Los Angeles.”

“West coast… Just like you sensed.”

“Yes.” She smiled at him. “I know it’s not much and L.A. is a big city… but you have his pictures. Maybe you’ll manage to find him.”

Logan made an effort to hide his disappointment. With her, finding Remy in L.A. would be so much easier. But she was obviously feeling guilty and he didn’t want to make her feel even worse.

“How are you getting back?”

“Scott will fly here. There is a suitable place to land the jet, a few miles from the town. I would need a lift, though”

“When?” He asked with deceptive calm. The very thought of seeking someone out in such a big city, especially when this someone didn’t want to be found, made his head hurt.

“In five hours.”

Logan nodded at her and said:

“I’ll be here in four hours to take you.”

Not waiting for her response, he grabbed his jacket and left the room, not caring what she thought about it. He desperately needed some time for himself, alone, to think and take in all the changes.

Remy was in Los Angeles.

For the first time since he learned about Remy’s disappearance, he thought about their meeting. He had no idea how it would go. He and Remy never had any kind of relationship. They never had sex until Remy fell into coma and started visiting him those nights in that seemingly real form.

Logan didn’t know if the real Remy remembered his nightly visits. Frankly, he could not imagine the scenario where Remy didn’t remember what passed between them through the last year. 

Each time the Cajun came to him, they not only had sex. They made love. For the first time in a very long time Logan felt somebody loved him, cared about him.

He closed his eyes against the cool, night breeze and smelled the forest ahead. He could see the red on black eyes softer than he had ever seen them, looking at him with gentleness and forgiveness that he so craved.

Each touch of the slim body, each caress of those agile fingers seemed to reach straight to his heart and warm something inside that was cold for far too long. Although they never spoke, never talked during those strange meetings, he always knew just what Remy was thinking, whereas in reality, the thief was always a mystery to him.

Sighing Logan opened his eyes and looked into the sky, relishing in the sight of stars, usually invisible in heavily populated cities. It was time to go back to the motel and take Jean to the meeting place.

Once upon a time, the X-Men were his family. People he trusted and wanted to be with no matter how irritating some of them were. But now everything changed. Storm became so distant, that she seemed a complete stranger to him. He guessed it had something to do with guilt. She couldn’t forgive Remy the massacre in the tunnels. And when she finally got around to talking to him and listening to his side of the story, it was too late.

It seemed strange that the least respected member of the X-Men caused the team to fall apart. Scott was so lost in his guilt and regret, that he literally reeked of it. Logan didn’t have to ask to know that he started drinking just a little bit more. Not getting drunk, but bitter and sad, keeping all the pain inside. Logan often called Scott names, calling him a tight assed prick, and had a lot against his constant formalities and the freakish desire to do everything by protocol. But even Logan knew what happened wasn’t Scott’s fault. He told Rogue to wait for Remy’s call. Logan was supposed to be in the Mansion too, but something unexpected called him out. And when he returned, it was already too late.

God, the memory of Remy’s broken, bleeding body on that dirty floor littered with old magazines still haunted him in his dreams. It made him scream and thrash in his bed. It was even worse than the repressed memories from the lab.

Rogue was no longer part of the team. Logan couldn’t ever remember seeing Scott so angry. He’d nearly killed the bitch. If it wasn’t for her powers she would have been fucking toast the moment Scott learned what happened. Warren had his punishment when he saw Remy being brought back. Scott made him sit in the lab through the nine hours it took Blue to patch the kid back up and then made Warren look after Remy.

The lesson hit home and by the end of the third day Mister-Warren-Fucking- Worthington was green and vomiting in bathroom, smelling of fear and guilt. Who would have thought that Scott had such a cruel streak to him? Logan opted for ripping the fucking bird’s throat out, but Scott made him stop. He just made Warren feel guilty and never let him forget what he had done, how he had betrayed a team member.

Hank also changed. He was a doctor and probably the most gentle person Logan had ever met, and he couldn’t come to terms with what happened. It seemed to shake his belief in the X-Men. And Hank couldn’t do something he didn’t believe in…

As for himself, he saw nothing more to keep him at the Mansion. Granted Jean and Scott and Blue were his friends, but he guessed he would not come back to the team. Maybe he would help with some missions, but living in the Mansion was out of the question now. Especially if he managed to find Remy. He really doubted that the Cajun would ever want to be near the Mansion again.

Logan shook those dark thoughts away and knocked at Jean’s door. She gave him a sad smile and went out with her own duffel in hand. If she noticed his distress she didn’t say a word, just put her hand on his shoulder for a brief moment, before going to the jeep and putting her bag to the back.

They drove in silence for about twenty minutes, only breaking it when Jean was giving him directions.

Logan could smell the jet before they even reached the clearing. He stopped the car and decided to make the rest few hundred meters by foot, the forest too thick to drive a car through it.

“Red…” He asked suddenly, watching the attractive woman walk ahead of him.

She stopped and turned to him with questioning look.

“Yes?”

“How’s Slim?” He asked suddenly.

Logan caught the shadow that moved by her face before she collected herself enough to hide her feelings.

“Not good Logan. You need to find Remy… because Scott can’t live like that anymore. He needs to know if Remy is blaming him. He needs to ask forgiveness because he failed not only his team member, someone under his leadership, but also himself. He always thought he knew people, that he could judge them rightly… he never expected something like this to happen. He failed himself and it is eating at him.”

Logan froze mid step, he never expected such a true answer from her.

“I…”

“Just find him Logan. I’ll contact you as soon as I’ll be able, okay?”

She waited for him to nod before she smiled and approached him. She kissed him lightly on one cheek.

“Everything will be all right. You will find him, I am sure of this.”

The she turned back and started walking again.

With his night vision, Logan saw Scott first and the image caused him to stop again.

The jet looked like a huge, black, mystical dragon just perched on the ground for a moment.

Scott was alone, sitting on a fallen tree a few feet from the jet. He was dressed in simple, back jeans hugging his long legs like a second skin and a white tee shirt with a pilot jacket on top. He had his visor on and a faint stubble could be seen on his jaw.

He had his elbows on his spread knees, one hand dangling with a glowing cigarette in it. With his eyes focused somewhere beyond the plane, he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and took a deep drag, letting the smoke through his nose.

Logan felt a twinge of something old stir again at the sight. Scott had always been, slim but never thin. Now, however, his face seemed much sharper, the jaw standing out clearly on his pale skin and his body seemed only skin and bone, without any additional flesh at all. He looked sharp and…bitter somehow.

Still not aware of their presence, he leaned back and stretched one long leg in front of him, the tight jeans making him seem even leaner than normal. The muscles under the thin tee shirt rippled, causing eerie shadows to be cast on his chest and then he rubbed his jaw with his hand. Logan could almost hear the rustle of the heavy stubble and memories from their short-lived affair shot to his brain again.

He looked at Jean, but the redhead was watching him with a smile in her eyes. She knew about it. She always knew.

But how she could blame any of them? They thought she was dead and Scott was literally breaking apart. Their passion was born from grief and even now, years later, Logan was sure that if they hadn’t come together, Scott could have done something extreme in his grief.

Their short, but intense affair was ended as soon as the news that Jean was alive came, never to be discussed again. And if sometimes, one of them looked just a little bit too long, remembering those days, it was okay. It was in the past, and now, all those years later, it was just a bittersweet memory none of them wanted to really forget. And Jean knew, but she was woman enough to realize that it never threatened her in any way. It was never love. It was just lust, passion, grief and friendship.

“When did he start smoking?” Logan found himself asking, his eyes still on his friend’s form.

“Few days after you left the Mansion. He smokes about three packs a day. I can’t get him to stop.” She sighed “I don’t even have the heart to forbid him. He… needs it. Needs something to distract him from the guilt.”

Logan looked at the thin figure made of only skin and muscles and bones, all sharp angles and scars and felt a deep sadness overwhelm him.

“It’s not good for him Red, no good at all”

Finally realizing that he had probably said too much, Logan looked at her, trying to judge her reaction. If she wanted, Jean could hide her feelings extremely well. It probably came with the job…

“It’s okay Logan.” She whispered softly and took hold of his arm, pulling him towards the clearing.

Scott stood up as soon as he noticed them. Logan deliberately slowed his steps so that Jean reached Scott first. He watched them kiss hello and was aware that they were talking telepathically through the change in their breathing, but he didn’t mind. He watched the sharp, jerky movements of his friend and smelled the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke and despair.

“Slim,” He greeted him in his usual, gruff manner.

“Logan,” Scott greeted him in equally dry manner.

Logan felt a chuckle build in his throat at the way Jean rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath:

“Men!”

With a strange look at Logan, she turned and went to the jet, disappearing inside.

They stood for a while just staring at each other, not sure what to do or what to say.

Finally Logan broke the silence. “You never told me she knew.”

Scott took last drag of the cigarette and threw it on the wet grass, squashing it with his boot.

“I never told her anything. She just… knew.” Answered Scott, not looking at him.

“Telepathy?”

This time Scott looked up, a small smile on his lips.

“No. Intuition.”

They fell silent for a moment.

“You know she left us alone deliberately?”

This time Scott grinned at him.

“Kind of figured that one out.”

“She’s worried about ya.”

Scott’s face darkened.

“I know,” He said, but Logan heard what Scott didn’t say. How could he help her if he couldn’t help even himself?

“Logan…” Started Scott hesitantly, something that was very uncharacteristic for him. “If… When you find him… let me know? I… I have to talk to him”

“Sure.” He made as if to leave but stopped mid-movement and turned back to Scott. In one swift move he grabbed Scott by his neck and pulled him in for a hard, short kiss using the younger man’s shock to break through his defenses, remembering the almost forgotten taste. Scott answered him after a moment and then gently pulled back from the kiss.

“Get a grip on yourself Bub, or else Red may become tired of ya and look for a real man instead.”

Scott gave his first real smile this time.

“I am already afraid Wolverine. See me shaking?”

Chuckling, Logan started walking away.

“See ya, Bub!”

Scott gave a mock sigh, “Unfortunately” and watched the Canadian leave. Then he turned and jogged to the jet after his wife, not really surprised to see her sitting by the window.

“Feeling better?” She asked with a glitter in her eye.

“You are a wicked woman.”

“Nah… just kinky.”

She laughed out loud and stood stretching her arms for him. Without hesitation, Scott let her hug him to her, enjoying the smell of her hair.

“Missed you.” He murmured into her neck.

Jean hugged him closer.

“I know.”

After a while he extracted himself from her arms and said gently:

“Lets go home.”

tbc


	16. Chapter 16

Part 16

 

Angel straightened again, admiring his work. Remy was lying prostrate under him, his arms stretched above his head, all that sleek muscles stretched and tense under the golden skin… he looked delicious.

Bracing his hands on the bound arms of his lover, Angel leaned closer so that his face was inches from Remy’s and growled low in his throat, smiling at the shiver that shot through the Cajun.

“Are you going to be a good boy?”

“Oui.” Answered the younger man, his voice a little unsteady.

“Good… don’t move.”

Angle could already smell the heady scent of desire pouring off of Remy. He leaned just this tiny little bit closer and dragged his tongue from the sharp jaw, across the exposed, graceful, long neck to the prominent collarbone and lower to the left nipple, ending with a sharp nip with his teeth.

Remy arched under the rough caress, stretching his torso to get more of the contact, but Angel’s strong hands pressed him ruthlessly down into the floor.

“Tsk, tsk… I thought I told you not to move.”

With that, Angel got up and pulled the stunned younger man quickly to his feet. Before Remy had the time to actually react to the rough treatment, Angel spun him around and pushed him towards the wall.

Remy hit the wall with a soft ‘oof’ and then felt Angel behind him, grabbing his bound wrists and pulling up. Remy blinked when he didn’t fall down to the floor when Angel stepped back. Feeling the pressure on his wrists he looked up and blinked stupidly at the hook poking out of the wall. The leather holding his wrists was securely lodged on the strong looking device.

“Merde.” He hissed softly and then felt his breath hitch when he felt Angel close again. His cool, hard chest was pressed into his now stretched back and his arms were braced on the wall on the both sides of his torso. Angel was so close, Remy could smell his sweat but he wasn’t actually touching him and that almost-contact was driving Remy insane.

He shivered and tried to back into the solid presence behind him, but with a chuckle Angel leaned back, not letting Remy get what he wanted.

“Now… you seem to forget just who is in control here.” Angel chuckled into his ear, never letting the younger man touch him.

Still laughing he put his broad, strong hands on the slim hips and pushed the sweats down, exposing soft, tanned skin. Remy hissed and put his forehead to the wall, still rocking his hips lightly. He closed his eyes and tried to will his body under control, but he just couldn’t stand there and wait! It was not his nature.

Frustrated, he tugged at the bonds again, but the hook was high enough to get him just a little bit off balance, not letting him actually do anything.

Angel sighed at the exquisite sight in front of him. When Remy pulled at the bonds, the muscles in his back shifted and tensed in a most appealing way, making his mouth water. Not thinking, but rather letting his desires take the lead, Angel pulled his hand back and delivered a sharp smack to that perfect, tight ass.

Remy yelped mostly in surprise rather than pain and jumped as much as possible in his position at the stinging slap. Before he managed to gain control of himself, a soft moan left his throat at the delicious heat that spread through his right buttock, making his cock so hard it was almost painful.

“Well, well, well,” Murmured Angel softly, touching the burning flesh with his fingertips, relishing the heat that emanated from the reddened skin. “You like it.”

Remy shook his head, keeping quiet however, because he wasn’t sure he could speak without a quiver in his voice.

Angel laughed out loud at him.

“Don’t try to deny… I can see that you like it.” Angel let his fingers skid towards the crease and then dip into it, finding the puckered opening with ease. He touched it with feather light touches and chucked at the way Remy’s muscles quivered under his hand, and how his hips bucked before the Cajun stopped himself.

“You are all hot and bothered… I can smell lust pouring off of you in waves… it’s driving me mad. I want to tan your skin… I want to hear the sound of my palm connecting with this perfect, tight ass of yours… I want to see you shiver and moan and beg for more with your whole body…”

Remy felt his whole body shake as Angel whispered those forbidden words straight into his ear with a dark, promising voice, one of his hands stroking his hair with gentleness that did nothing to distract him from the other hand ghosting light touches on the very entrance to his body. He felt as if his whole consciousness was centered on that small puckered opening and that patch of burning skin.

Angel’s skin was cool and every time he brushed over the abused flesh of his ass, Remy couldn’t stop a moan from escaping him.

“You want that?”

Remy shook his head ‘no’ desperately, keeping his eye tightly closed.

Angel chuckled and leaned closer, covering the younger man’s back with his whole, hard body and slid his hand to the front of Remy’s hips. The Cajun bit his lip when he felt the first, light, cool touch on his straining erection.

Angel followed the pulsing, swollen veins on the underside with his fingertips, driving Remy crazy with need, still the younger man refused to make a sound.

“Yes… I can see just how… against the idea you are” He whispered with voice dark and thick as molasses full of dark promise and danger. “Yess… you are very, very appalled by the idea…” He mocked, dipping his thumb into the pearls of pre-come gathered at the tip and smeared it on the heated skin.

Angel gave Remy a long, sensual lick on the side of his neck and with a last, dark chuckle he pushed his knee between Remy’s legs and slowly, letting Remy feel the scrape of the material of his trousers, moved his thigh higher, forcing the Cajun to spread his legs bit by bit.

The younger man shivered, but obeyed and spread his long, graceful legs as much as his position allowed him, whimpering at the feel of that hard, muscled thigh forcing his knees apart.

“Don’t move.” The vampire ordered and then stepped back, admiring the body exposed to his pleasure. Each muscle was tense and quivering in anticipation.

Angel pulled his hand back and delivered a vicious slap to the other, unmarked buttock. One by one, he landed hard, unforgiving blows on the rapidly reddening ass and with each muffled yelp or scream he could smell the arousal in Remy’s body up a bit. His whole body was now covered with a film of sweat, he was panting harshly and his legs visibly trembled, yet his hips rocked unconsciously towards Angel’s striking hand.

After what seemed eternity, but must have been just few minutes Angel stopped. His hand was tingling, but it was worth it. He looked at Remy and a low growl escaped him.

Remy was almost shaking, his flushed face pressed to the cool wall and eyes tightly closed. The damp, auburn hair was plastered to his neck and forehead. He was heaving, his stretched chest expanding with each ragged, deep breath and Angel could only bit his lip to regain control over himself and not just fuck the Cajun into the wall.

He approached the man again, standing so close to him that he could actually feel the burning heat of Remy’s skin seep into his body. With a quiet moan, Angel put both palms on the burning skin and just felt the aggravated, slightly swollen flesh making Remy whimper again in need.

Without any hesitation, Angel sank to his knees behind the spread out Cajun and used both palms to spread the taunt cheeks apart. He flicked his tongue over the crease and was delighted to hear a choked scream from his captive.

“S’il te plait… S’il te plait!” Moaned Remy, deliciously thrusting his burning backside towards Angel’s cool tongue.

Finally giving in to his lover, Angel started licking the hot skin in wide, wet licks all along the abused buttocks, making Remy moan and shiver deliriously.

“Ssss’il the plait… plus…”

Angel smiled inwardly. Normally, Remy talked with only faint traces of his accent, but right now he seemed to forget all English whatsoever.

Without any warning, Angel changed his position slightly and plunged his tongue into the hot, quivering muscle- causing Remy to swear and scream and buck backwards without any restraint.

He writhed his tongue inside his lover’s opening enjoying the difference in temperature between their bodies. He thrust his tongue in sharp movements; in and out, gripping Remy’s hips with bruising force, making sure he stayed immobile.

Carefully, Angel scrapped his teeth over the sensitive skin. Remy shuddered and the vampire barely managed to squeeze the base of his cock to stop him from coming.

“Tsk, tsk.” He admonished softly, still keeping a tight and somewhat painful grip on the pulsing cock. “I don’t want you to come… yet.”

The wail that left Remy’s lips was in equal measure despair as anger. The Cajun had no control over his body left at all. He was shivering and sweating purposefully, feeling as if his body was just a mass of over stimulated, quivering nerve endings.

When he was sure that Remy wouldn’t come, Angel drew back, standing up on his slightly shaking legs. God, but he wanted the Cajun right now.

As quickly as possible Angel went to the weapon cabinet and took out a small tube of hand lotion he sometimes used while training., it created an illusion of sweating hands and gave him the opportunity to train with a weapon he could barely hold.

Right now, he was more than grateful for it. He took the rest of his clothes off and naked, came back to Remy, molding his whole body into the hot, lighter one of his lover.

“S’il te plait Angel…” whimpered Remy. “Please…”

With a groan of anticipation, Angel squeezed a dollop of the lotion on his fingers and immediately pushed one finger inside his lover.

Remy arched into the sensation, the rough, thick digit entering him surely and without hesitation. He hissed. Angel had big hands and Remy was so sensitive, so frustrated, that even the lightest touch was sending him to the very edge. Angel, however, made sure that he would not cross the line. That bastard of a vampire would not let him come!

“Non!” He groaned when he felt the thick finger withdrew and pushed back, desperate for more contact. His complaint was, however, cut off sharply when he felt the tip of his lover’s erection pressed to his throbbing entrance.

“S’il te plait…”

They both groaned when the cockhead pressed and then passed through the tight ring of muscles. With the minimal amount of stretching, the entry was extremely tight and the friction made his breath catch. There was just enough pain to stop him from climaxing and he shivered even more, realizing that Angel knew perfectly well what he was doing.

“Good boy…” Whispered Angel, with his dark voice just above his neck. “You want more?”

“O…oui,” Remy managed to stammer, the sensation of that bulbous, thick flesh in him, stretching him and only giving him a taste of what was to come, drove him mad.

“So move Remy… take whatever you want.” The voice was so dark, so controlled with a hint of something dangerous in it and it made Remy burn white hot from inside.

Bracing his spread legs as well as was possible in his position, he gained some leverage and then thrust back, impaling himself on the hard shaft that stretched him without remorse, the lotion only slightly easing the entry. But Remy was already too far gone to give a damn about the pain.

Without the stretching, the organ entering him felt huge and Remy couldn’t stop the soft curses that crowded his throat, still he pushed his hips back ‘till he felt his abused buttocks pressed to the coarse, curly hair of his lover’s groin and the cock so deep inside him that he could barely breathe.

He could feel the cool, moist lips of his lover moving against his skin, Angel whispering something so low that Remy couldn’t hear him, but the knowledge that the deadly fangs were just a hairsbreadth away from his neck made something inside him stir and before he had the time to think about it, Remy cocked his head to the side, exposing his neck in blatant invitation.

Angel didn’t wait. He froze for a brief moment, his large hands grabbing Remy’s hips and then Remy could feel the sharp, thin fangs descent onto him, piercing his skin with ease, as if he was made of butter. Simultaneously, the larger man started thrusting in a hard, steady and incredibly deep rhythm, pulling out almost to the tip and then pushing in, forcing Remy to accept, to yield into the forceful penetration.

Remy could feel that the draw of his blood was very slow, as if Angel got his pleasure from the very act of biting than really drinking blood. The Cajun felt lightheaded and tense to the point of bursting, but still Angel refused to touch his straining member, refusing to give him just this last bit of stimulation to push him over the edge. All Remy could do was hold onto his binding; those he agreed to, and take it, allow Angel mold his body into a shape he desired, giving him so much pleasure it was almost killing him. He wasn’t aware of the half sobbed pleas and moans that left his lips, the only part of his body that was aware, was the place where they were joined, each burning thrust in, each retreat that made him whimper with need.

“Angel… Angel…” He couldn’t take it any more, it was too much. Remy threw his head back, resting it on Angel’s powerful shoulder and begged with his whole body.

With a savage growl Angel sped his thrusts up, intent on bringing them both off and withdrew his fangs from Remy’s neck. Simultaneously, he grabbed the weeping, painfully hard member of his lover and closed a tight fist around it.

“Now!” Angel growled harshly.

It was enough. With a hoarse scream Remy jerked spasmodically and shot white come over the hand holding him. When his muscles tensed, gripping the erection buried so deep inside him in a vise, Angel shuddered behind him and with a low growl, climaxed- bathing Remy’s abused inner walls with shot after shot of cool seed, bringing relief to the burning channel.

It was too much for Remy and slowly he went limp in the bonds, his over stimulated brain finally shutting down.

When he woke up, Remy realized he was lying in Angel’s bed, his lover’s cool body pressed to his back.

“Welcome back.”

Remy exhaled long and slow. It’d been a *very* long time since he’d passed out during sex.

“I need a cigarette.” He stated flatly, still a little shaken by the intensity of their encounter. If he was surprised when Angel reached into a second drawer of his bedside table and produced a pack of cigarettes, he didn’t show it. He just took one out and forgetting to act normally, pressed his fingertip to the tip of the cigarette and charged it lightly. When it glowed, he took a deep breath and exhaled the smoke with real pleasure.

When Angel leaned with another cigarette, he stayed still ‘till his lover lit the other from his own and then resumed his smoking, trying to regain his composure. Remy tried not to notice the red marks on his wrists, or the burning of his backside caused by that… spanking he received. Many people called him a whore or a slut and there was some truth in it. He loved sex, it was a cure for his depression and it made him feel wanted, if even for a moment. The thing Remy desired above all other things was love, he desperately needed to feel loved and physical contact with others, sex, gave him that illusion. Maybe it was pitiful, but it was all that he had. However… wild… his escapades were, he always despised submission. Granted, he was forced into that role more than once, but in reality, even if he was on the bottom, he was all too aware of the fact that it was him that controlled the situation. But Angel somehow knew that. He understood that Remy was always controlling his lovers, even if from the bottom, and he twisted and turned the situation until Remy lost not only the control over the situation, but of his own body as well.

Angel made him submit not on the outside, but deeper, on the inside.

It scared him. But it also made him feel… relaxed. The tension of the last few months finally dissipated.

“Who is Logan?” Asked Angel calmly.

“Merde! Fils de chienne! You’re like a terrier that once gets his teeth on something and never let’s go!”

Angel didn’t react to the angry outburst, just kept smoking quietly in the bed behind Remy and waited.

The Cajun stared at the dark ceiling and watched the shadows move for a very long time.

“There was… is… this group of people. I worked with them. Believed in what they did. They… helped other mutants. Like me. De families… they usually don’t take it well when their kid suddenly spurts green spikes or can walk through the doors,” The more serious he got, the less accent there was in Remy’s words.

“When I came to work with them… I had a past already. I… I let somebody use me. In my stupidity, I trained a squad of mercenaries. They were supposed to be thieves, like me. But the man I worked for had other plans. When I made a good team of them- he send me to find a group of fugitives. Mostly homeless women and children, defenseless mutants that couldn’t live in the outside world and went to the tunnels to hide. I managed to find them, to take samples he said… Instead, I was forced to watch my team slaughter women and children… old people…” Remy’s voice broke. He reached for another cigarette and lit it up with shaking hands “They tried to kill me too, but I am like a rat. It takes fucking much to kill me.”

He took a deep breath and continued.

“Anyway, that people I worked with after… they didn’t know about it. And when they learned they judged me a murderer. And they were right. I should have known what my actions could lead to. But I was too blind at that time.”

“There was a lot of wrong that happened after that. They judged me murder and sentenced me to death. People I trusted with my life, people I believed to be the ‘good ones’… they left me to die in Antarctica.”

“I came back from that frozen Hell, my guilt pushing me on, making me come back and try to do something, anything to atone for all the deaths I caused.”

Angel kept silent, all too well understanding what pain guilt could cause.

“Logan was one of the few that never judged me. He had a past of his own. He was also the only one that came to me and actually asked for the whole story. He tried to understand both sides. I think we were friends. I was sure… so sure that there was something more… I have admired him for years, his strength, personality… but there was always something in my way. Besides he just isn’t a man that you can simply hit on. If I was wrong in my assumptions I am sure he would slice me to pieces.” Remy laughed bitterly. “But I thought we had time, lots of time to work though things on his pace. I also needed time to heal, to regain my balance… to rebuild my shields. But then something happened. I was sent on an undercover mission… when I called for backup, they didn’t send it.”

Somehow when he wasn’t looking at Angel he could talk about it.

“I spent over thirteen moths in coma. The moment I woke up I dragged myself from that fucking mansion and promised that I would never go back.” There was still fresh anger in Remy’s voice. “I may be slow, but I can take a hint. They almost managed to kill me twice. I don’t need to wait and see if they will succeed the third time.”

They fell silent, Remy trying desperately not to remember and Angel filling in all the things Remy hadn’t said.

“And what about Logan?”

Remy jerked away from Angel, their physical contact suddenly irritating.

“Nothing. There was nothing real between us and I have already forgot him.”

“Did he betray you? Or did he try to help you?”

Remy snorted and sat up on the bed, the need to move, to pace suddenly overwhelming.

“Doesn’t matter. I told you, I have put him behind already.”

“Did you?” Asked Angel calmly. When no answer came, only a glare from Remy he continued “So why are you getting angry and restless at the very mention of his name? Why did you almost break my jaw today when I asked about him? Why do you call his name when you are asleep? Do you love him?”

Suddenly, all the fight left Remy’s body and the Cajun slumped on the bed lifelessly.

“Non… oui… mebbe…” He stopped and seemed to think about it. “I guess I loved him then. But no more.”

“Why? Love isn’t something that just passes away. It may change with time, the passion may burn out, but the feeling remains.”

“Not any more.”

Angel felt he was hitting close to home by the way Remy’s whole body tensed and his voice reached cold, angry tones that were rare for the Cajun.

“Why do you deny your feeling for him?”

Remy looked at him, his eyes glowing demonically in the darkness.

“Because he wasn’t there!” He shouted finally. “He was never there!” The red on black eyes swam with emotions. “He kept dropping all those signs and hints, promised friendship and care and where was he when they left me to die in Antarctica? Where was he when they left me to die in that fucking arsenal? Tell me where? And where the fuck was he when I woke up? I’ll tell you. NOT with me. Never with me. There were always better, more important things to do, people to be with… never me. I have had enough of loving people that don’t give a flying shit about me. I have enough of being their fuck toy, their dog to beat… I want someone who will care for me! He may rot in Hell for all I care now. He lost his chance.”

Angel looked at the younger man with a deep sense of sadness in his gut. He never expected such guilt and such shame in his past. The way Remy spoke of himself… Angel was sure that the Cajun had been used by the people he cared for. Remy was like a dog that was kicked one time too many and now won’t come close even if he was to starve.

He smelled the tears even before he saw the tremors that rocked the slim body. Gently, he pulled the Cajun into his arms and started murmuring soft, reassuring words. 

“He was never there… there is never anyone for me… Jus me… always just me…”

* * *

Rush opened her eyes and looked around, wondering just what woke her. She could feel the warmth of Wesley’s body alongside her and also hear the faint sounds of the old hotel.

She knew she would have to leave the Hyperion soon. She was aware of the fact that she broke the Lore helping Angel. She knew the punishment. The Powers that Be would not protect her anymore. Even now she could feel her protective walls thinning and breaking a little. If she listened carefully, she could hear the walls screaming… she could even see the blood on the old hotel’s floors. There was so much evil that happened here. So many deaths… she knew she had to leave. For now Doyle was keeping the ghosts at bay, but soon even he wouldn’t have the strength to help. Besides she knew that Doyle didn’t like this place from the very first minute she entered it. Too much death and despair had happened here.

She woke up because Doyle wasn’t by her and the screams of long forgotten ghosts in this place woke her up, breaking her peace. She looked at her sleeping lover and smiled. She was falling in love. It was a strange feeling. So soft and mushy when he focused her attention on her. But she was also aware of the other side of her love. Once upon a time, somebody told her that love can be the most dangerous and selfish feeling on earth.

She laughed then.

But now she wouldn’t laugh. The strength of her feelings towards the Englishman terrified her. She felt that she would kill easily, without remorse if anybody tried to hurt him. But what terrified her the most, was the fact that she actually *could* kill.

Rush stood up and took a robe she left on the chair beside the bed. This time it had been Wesley who initiated their lovemaking and it was beautiful. Slow and gentle, not like the first, intense times. She never expected to find a lover, especially her first lover, to be everything she ever desired in a man. Hell, maybe she deserved that after all the things that’d happened to her already.

She closed her eyes and tried to sense Doyle. A presence on the lower floor drew her attention, but when her mind brushed against it, she jerked back feeling sick at the foul anger and destruction that emanated from the presence. She really needed to leave this hotel as soon as possible. 

More carefully this time, she looked for the warm, bright presence of her otherworldly friend, finally sensing his gentle aura.

With her eyes half closed, she went though the maze of dark corridors ‘till she reach heavy, oak doors and pushed them open.

She couldn’t say that she was really surprised. In the dark room, with the first rays of sun illuminating closed drapes, she saw Angel and Remy asleep on the large bed covered in blood-red sheets. It was a different bedroom than the one where she sacrificed her blood for Angel and she could really feel the vampire here. The dark, heavy furniture, the rows after rows of books on the walls just screamed “Angel” at her.

Remy was on his side, curled in his sleep protectively. She frowned at the new bruises on his upper body, but they didn’t seem too serious. Then her gaze turned to the vampire.

Angel was lying on his stomach, the sheet low on his hips only highlighting the muscled swell of his buttocks. She admired with purely feminine interest the broad, perfectly shaped back and the beautiful tattoo on his shoulder blade.

One of his arms was thrown over Remy in an unconsciously possessive gesture. In sleep, his face was relaxed and seemed so young. He was probably turned when he was about 25 years old. But when he was awake he seemed much older. Something in his eyes maybe, made him look older.

Then she turned her eyes to the side of the bed. Using her double vision that allowed her to see both the real and the spiritual world she looked at Doyle. The Irishman was sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the dark vampire.

There was so much… emotion in him that Rush was loathe to speak, to break this moment.

She could almost feel just how much Doyle wanted to touch his friend, to have any kind of physical contact. But he couldn’t and she could feel his pain, his distress. It was strange and disturbing, because for all the time she knew Doyle, he was always peaceful, always so in tune with himself, so at peace with his death.

It was he who always calmed her, helped her cope with the strain of supporting so many lost souls. But now, it was him in pain, and she wanted to help him so much.

/Doyle…/ She called softly in her thoughts.

He moved, but didn’t look at her.

/I was always such a nuisance, but he never held it against me. I drank too much and gambled. I always had debts and someone after me. You wouldn’t believe just how many times Angel had to beat up thugs sent to collect debts from me./

The Irishman started speaking again. /Later he started paying off my debs. I knew about it, he knew I knew… but we never spoke about it. I think he felt bad for the painful visions I had. But at the end I paid my debts in full. I gave my life for him and a bunch of half breeds like me./

/Do you regret?/ She finally asked. She always wondered if, being in his shoes, she would regret her choice afterwards.

Finally he looked at her, a soft smile on his lips.

/No./ He stretched his hand to touch Angel’s face but stopped, painfully aware of the fact that he couldn’t touch him. /I could never regret that choice/

She sighed and looked at the sleeping figures.

/So why are you here? You are not lost, not in pain, not in anger… why stay here and not move on?/

/Partially because you needed me. You needed help. You may not know this but here… on the other side you shine like a beacon for every lost soul. You are their only chance to reach peace again. I was… curious to meet you. And when I did, I couldn’t leave you. I was always a sucker for a pretty face/

She smiled at him, but she still felt absolutely lost.

/But it isn’t all, right? From what I have learned these last few years you should have moved on. Not stay here frozen in time/

He smiled a little sad smile at her.

/For a very long time I also didn’t know why I did. But now… now I understand. I need… something/

/What?/ She wanted to give him everything, anything that would take that sadness from his eyes

/Closure./

She was silent, sensing that he wanted to say more.

Doyle turned back to the sleeping vampire and looked at him.

/Do you know we have never been lovers? I was in love with him from the first time I saw him. It was like a metal pipe to the head. Bam- and all I could think of was him./

/He must have something special in him then./

Doyle turned to her with one brow raised, sensing something more in her words.

/Wesley is in love with him too. Has been for years I think./

Doyle chuckled.

/Well, that doesn’t surprise me. The Watcher always was so in awe of Angel that it would have been funny, if not the fact that I was equally, insanely in love with our boss./

/What do you want Doyle? What do you need?/ She asked desperately, wishing she could give it to him.

He sighed and still looking at the sleeping vampire said:

/A touch. I want to know how it would feel if I touched him. If he touched me. I want to know how it would feel to be held by him and… made love to. But it would never happen. I am dead and he is not. Still… a touch, physical contact is everything I want from him./

Rush closed her eyes feeling them sting. This she couldn’t give him, no matter how much she wanted to.

/I’m sorry./

/Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s my cowardice that kept me from asking when I was still alive. Just one of a thousand regrets, princess. One of a thousand regrets…/

He turned around and looked at her with suddenly very serious eyes.

/But I have something I want to ask you to do for him./

Rush swallowed.

/I almost gave my life for him, broke the last of unbreakable Lore to save his soul. What more do you want me to do?/

/Make him stronger./

/How?/

/I helped him as I could when I was alive. Now I want somebody to be here for him, somebody strong./

She frowned, not really understanding what he wanted.

/I don’t understand./

/Come,/

With a last look at the sleeping vampire Doyle left the bedroom and Rush went after him.

He led her though the dark corridors, sure of his path and she trusted him to lead her safely. Finally, they reached another heavy door. Doyle disappeared through them, and the door clicked open before she had the time to touch it at all.

The light flicked on and she understood where she was. It was a library. Every wall was filled with long shelves of books. Old, leather bound tomes of magic books. Demonology and dozens of other books on the dark side of life.

One of the books on the very top of the shelves moved and then fell to the floor opening in the middle.

Doyle hadn’t said a thing, just watched her with those warm, serious eyes of his.

Carefully, she picked the book up and then scanned the text. The sharp intake of breath was the only sign that she understood what he was asking of her.

“Wesley.” She whispered bringing her hand to her mouth.

/Why?/ She asked finally.

/Because Angel can survive everything done to him. He spent five hundred years in Hell and survived, he was tortured over and over again and survived. But his weaknesses are the people he cares for. When I died… he was shattered. Make him stronger by making those he cares for stronger./

She looked at the book and read the spell again.

/What if Wes won’t agree?/

/Don’t tell him. It’s a gift only you can give./

Doyle waited for her to decide. He knew that she was almost in love with the ex-Watcher already. Soon she would realize just how dangerous his job was and would want to protect him, just like Doyle wanted to protect Angel. For all her gentle looks, she could be as hard as steel. If she decided to do something, she would. Being an eighteen-year-old girl, she planned and extracted revenge on a group of people, killing them one by one. Doyle was a silent witness to her rage, her pain and terrifying ruthlessness. But he also noticed her ability to care about others and her genuine wish to help those in pain.

Finally she nodded, agreeing to his idea.

/You can’t stay here much longer./

She nodded again.

/Wesley doesn’t live here. He has an apartment not far away from here. Convince him to take you there. You already have what is needed for the spell. It’s very easy, especially for somebody as strong as you. Make sure he is asleep and do it. He won’t feel a thing. He won’t be even aware of it ‘till the time comes./

She averted her eyes for a moment.

/I don’t like it. I don’t want to lie to him./

/You can tell him later./

/It’s not… right./ She argued.

Doyle sighed and looked at her long and hard.

/Tell me the truth. If you knew about the spell earlier, and Wesley refused, would you do it anyway?/

She looked at her hands. Sometimes she still saw the dirt on them when she so desperately tried to dig out of the hole she was buried in. When she looked up again, her eyes glowed faintly with soft, violet light.

/I guess this is my answer then./ Doyle said and then smiled at her gently. /Relax. This won’t hurt him/

/I hope you are right, Doyle. God I hope you are right./

 

tbc


	17. Chapter 17

Part 17

The building was old and burned almost to the ground. But that wasn’t something he was interested in. The debris held no importance at all.

Nodding at the middleman, he followed the small, mousy man into the ruins and waited till he found the small, hidden trap door in the dirty floor

They went down the dirty steps, the only light source – their industrial sized flashlights.

The basement was deep and quite large, considering that the building above was a small one. It was filled with dust and a whole lot of trash, but it was hidden enough for his plans.

“Well?” asked the middleman.

Lindsey looked around the dark interior once more.

“How long will it take you to rebuild this place to suit the plan I gave you?” asked the lawyer.

“About two weeks.”

“You have a week.” Answered Lindsey, not even bothering to look at the man.

“But…”

“Or I will find someone else.”

“All right. A week it is. But it’ll cost more.”

“I don’t care.” It was true. He didn’t care. All of his plans revolved around killing Angel. Afterwards, there was nothing.

Now he had to buy himself a week of time.

He returned to Wolfram and Hart, trying to act as normally as possible. He nodded at the guard, passed the security table as cool as always, as if he wasn’t planning on betraying the firm for his revenge.

Lindsey went to the elevator and pressed the sub level button, where most of the ‘cells’ were situated. He was a frequent visitor there so no one was surprised to see him head there, no one asked him what he was doing there.

There were many different creatures kept in the small, white boxes. Some were violent, some were peaceful, some where hurt so badly that they weren’t capable of even blinking on their own, but all were needed by Wolfram and Hart’s scientists.

At the end of the corridor, in an equally small, harshly lit cell was Spike.

The blond vampire was lying on the floor, twitching and writhing in pain, his face was mutilated so badly that it didn’t even resemble a face anymore.

For the last few days that Spike had been transported from Sunnydale, no one even bothered to take the bullets out of his body. The badly hurt vampire had to claw them out with his fingers. His face was twisted with the agony that he was suffering, Fingers bloodied from when he had to claw at his own flesh with them. Although now he was lying quite still, the blood smeared all over the cold, tiled floor was a silent testimony of a night spend writhing in pain.

Strangely Lindsey felt pity for that damaged creature. It didn’t matter to him if it was serving evil or good, that kind of distinction lost its sense for him years ago. The only thing he really wanted now was his revenge on Angel.

Lindsey shook himself. He shouldn’t pity this creature. Spike, previously known as William the Bloody, tortured hundreds of people to death. What was a little pain now compared to all of those horrible crimes he committed then?

The lawyer closed his eyes for a moment and pulled his state-of-the-art cell phone from his pocket.

He dialed the number he had memorized but never used. After a few moments someone picked the phone up.

“Angel Investigations. We help the helpless. Angel speaking” Came the calm voice, thick as molasses.

“There is a certain bleached blonde vampire here… not in a good condition I must admit.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other side of the line.

“Lindsey?” Came the tentative inquiry.

“I doubt he will survive another day here,” Continued Lindsey, trying his best to hide the burning hatred he felt for the man.

“Did you know that they shot him over and over again and didn’t remove the bullets?” Lindsey felt an unhealthy thrill at the thought of delivering those details to Angel, knowing perfectly well that Spike was his favored Childe.

“I can see him now… clawing with his broken, twisted fingers at the gunshot wounds and trying to get the bullets out only with his fingers. It looks painful, I must say, not to mention bloody. The whole of the cell floor is covered in his blood by now. Interesting. Can vampires die of blood loss?”

“What do you want Lindsey?” Came the deceptively calm voice, but Lindsey studied his fiend long enough to know that it was only something that hid deep. Now he only needed to deceive Angel. He knew the vampire would not believe in any noble intent from him, so he decided for a half truth.

“You will owe me. And I will come one day to collect the debt, believe me. Do you agree?” The lawyer knew the vampire was honorable to a point of stupidity.

“Yes.”

A slow smile crept on the blonde man’s handsome face. He was going to win this time.

“Spike is kept in the Wolfram and Hart main building. Sublevel two, the last cell on the corridor D.” Saying that Lindsey cut the connection.

He was more than sure that Angel would come to save the blond vampire as soon as possible. He was tempted for a moment to warn the guards. If warned they could bring Angel down, but he dismissed the idea instantly. There would be much more satisfaction if he killed the undead bastard personally. 

Soon.

Soon he would have his revenge.

 

* * *

 

Lilah Morgan stayed motionless in the shadows until Lindsey disappeared in the elevator and then waked towards the cell, where behind magically enforced bars, was Spike. She needed to breathe shallowly and when the battled vampire tried to drag himself towards the wall, she almost vomited at the sight of his pale, dirty fingers with broken nails, dig into a disgusting looking wound in his thigh and then start to clumsily tear pieces of his own flesh out, trying to dig deep enough to reach the bullet that had gotten stuck in his thighbone.

With a slightly shaking hand, she pulled the small dart gun from her purse and punched her code into a digital lock installed in the wall. The bars went up with a hiss. She stepped into the cell, the only reaction she got from Spike was a barely audible growl and flick of his one eye that was still able to be opened, even with all the swelling. The other was permanently closed.

The fingers didn’t stop their digging, however. She briefly considered what kind of pain he must be in, that it was better to tear himself open than to wait.

When she aimed the pressure gun at him, the vampire didn’t react at all, just kept watching her with his bloodshot, golden eye. The vampire ridges were looking more like open wounds than anything else.

He didn’t even flinch when she shot, twice, aiming at his chest. She focused her eyes at the disturbing sight on his fingers embedded deep into his own flesh, covered in blood and gore, while the two silver darts emptied their contents in his chest.

It took almost six full minutes before the fingers stopped moving. Only then did Lilah look up at the unconscious vampire and watch him slump to the cold, hard floor lifelessly.

And if her hand shook when she punched the code to close the cell again? She pretended she didn’t notice.

* * *

Angel put the phone down very carefully, careful not to shatter the fragile device. For a moment he sat in his office, staring blankly in space and trying to comprehend the things he has just heard.

The cruel words were still echoing in his mind.

‘Did you know that they shot him over and over again and didn’t remove the bullets?’

God, he could almost see it. The slim body of his Childe riddled by bullets over and over again, jerking him, tearing him apart, shattering his bones… He’d been shot enough times to know that the force of the hot bullet entering your body could throw you several feet.

Not many people realized that the bullets were blazingly hot and not only tore your body while entering but also burned the flesh, causing unimaginable agony. But that was still nothing.

The pain of being shot was nothing compared to the torment of having the cursed piece of metal left in your body. Moving, tearing your muscles and insides with each, no matter how insignificant of a movement.

‘I can see him now… clawing with his broken, twisted fingers at the gunshot wounds and trying to get the bullets out…’

Angel closed his eyes trying not to think of the agony his childe must be in right now. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to will himself back under control and think of something to help Spike. He could not leave him alone in the hands of those evil bastards.

Lindsey could not be trusted and Angel knew that, but he had already given his word to the lawyer and there was no turning back. He knew where Spike was, and now needed to free him as soon as possible.

Suddenly, he heard a heartbeat and then heard Remy’s still sleepy voice calling him. It was amusing that this human kept vampire hours even better than he himself. Remy was out, clubbing for the first part of the night, only to come back around two a. m. and fuck the daylights out of the vampire, and then he slept the whole day while Angel needed to get up and actually do some work.

Angel smiled at the way Cordelia wanted to see this mysterious lover of her boss and managed to, only once. Only to stare at the sleepy, half naked Cajun sauntering into the kitchen with that ‘fuck me or cuddle me now’ look on his face that usually made Angel go weak in his knees.

And when Remy asked for coffee she made it with her eyes still glued to the auburn haired man and his naked chest. But when he kissed her cheek, murmuring in that sexy accent of his:

“Merci Chere.”

She fell in love with him instantly, carefully avoiding even thinking about the little thing that both Angel and Remy were males.

From the start Angel noticed that Remy was incredibly sensitive to other people’s moods and acted suitably to them, usually soothing the worries in an easy way making other’s laugh, or flirting with them. Anything to disarm the tension in the room.

So it wasn’t really a surprise when the Cajun dressed only in loose sweatpants came down to his office, looking worried and sleepy and extremely fuckable.

“Angel? Somet’ing happened?”

The vampire looked up at him, his dark brown eyes haunted.

“Spike… a vampire I told you about… he is in trouble.”

“Your Childe,” Nodded Remy in his understanding.

The Cajun remembered that conversation very well, knowing that Angel was hiding big chunks of the real story from him. But what made Remy pay attention to the name wasn’t anything that Angel said but the sudden, incredible wave of emotions so intense, it almost took Remy’s breath away, that was what caught Remy’s attention.

He guessed that those two had been involved before. There were great amounts of desire and affection he could detect in the dark vampire. But there was also regret, grief so strong it wrenched Remy’s insides with anger. So, so much anger…

Remy knew that Angel had a deeply obsessive nature, but knowing it and feeling the depth of his dark emotions focused only on one person was something entirely different. And it made him shiver.

It made him wonder and feel a little jealous. Because he never had anybody care so much about him. He wished somebody would feel so deeply for him that he would never be allowed to leave again. But it wasn’t going to happen, he knew. All the people he was involved with or ever loved, always wanted something from him, and when they got it, they threw him away like a broken, useless toy.

“What happened?” Asked Remy, surprised at the amount of pain he could sense in the other man.

“Some very bad guys got him and are keeping him in some kind of cell… torturing him.”

An unwanted memory shot through Remy’s mind. A harshly lit laboratory and a steel exam table that he spent so many hours on. Sometimes he could still feel the hard, cold surface digging into his damaged body, chilling him to the bones. And he could still remember the helplessness, the terror when even his throat was too sore from screaming to do anything more that whimper pitifully in pain, When pleading and begging for mercy would get him only a laughter or another shot of some muscle relaxing drug.

 

He shook himself from his memory and focused back on Angel.

“I have to get him out. He’s in very bad shape. The one who called made a joke. He said that Spike was bleeding very badly and asked if vampires can die of blood loss. The point is that yes, we can. If there is too little blood to sustain the demon, it leaves the body and without it, we turn to dust.

“You know where he is?” Asked Remy, suddenly very awake.

“Yes. The problem is I don’t know if it isn’t a set up. How can I ask Wesley to come if I could be leading him to certain death? And Cordelia! Last time Spike was near her, he put a stake through her abdomen. I don’t know what to do.” He whispered finally, his face darkened with torment.

Remy thought about those weeks he spent in Sinister’s laboratory, of those terrifying weeks in Antarctica when he was alone and dying, holding desperately to his life before a team of Russian/British researcher’s found him and took him in, asking what he was doing half naked in that frozen Hell only once and when he refused to answer they just tended to his wounds, fighting for his frozen fingers, putting him back together. Then he remembered the hours he spent waiting in that fucking warehouse, hoping that the X-Men would send the promised back up and remembered his despair when he fell to the floor under numerous wounds and blows inflicted on him. He would have given anything for somebody that would have come to his rescue then. But no one did. No one ever did.

“I’ll help you” Remy offered quietly.

Angel looked at the slim, deceptively gentle looking hands of his lover and thought of the power they held. He looked up into the red on black eyes and said equally softly, but no less seriously.

“Thank you.”

In that moment he knew that Remy became someone more important to him that a simple lover ever could. He was a part of his family now and he would do his damned best to protect the kid and never to see that lost, regretful look in his eyes again. The one that literally screamed of all those memories that were crushed under other people’s cruelty and obliviousness.

Angel reached for the phone again. He needed to contact Wes and Cordelia.

* * *

Wesley was eating his late breakfast, enjoying the day off he took from the work at Rush’s urging and succeeded only in staring at the younger woman eating her food with so much enjoyment and moaning in sheer pleasure that it made him hard.

He put his tea back and considered suggesting going back to the bedroom they just left when her eyes snapped open and she looked somewhere over his right shoulder, her eyes glowed for a moment in a way that Wesley came to recognize, that meant she was talking to Doyle.

The fact that his lover was talking to a dead man was disturbing him less and less each day, still the possibility of having Doyle in his kitchen while he planned what he and Rush could do in the bedroom did made him uncomfortable.

He was brought back from his musings by her somber expression.

“Is something wrong?”

She looked at him, her eyes so much older than they should be in her age, and she spoke softly:

“Something wrong is happening. Doyle is anxious for us to contact Angel.”

Wesley considered it only for a second, before standing up and heading for the phone. He truly believed in her.

Just when he was about to reach the phone, it rang causing both of them to jump nervously.

“Hello?” He said cautiously.

“Wesley? I know it’s your day off, but could you please come to the office? I have to talk to you.”

Wes looked at the woman sitting by his table, dressed only in his shirt and answered:

“We’ll be there in half an hour”

* * *

Remy stood in the doorway, leaning on the door frame and watched the fight.

Wesley, Rush and Cordelia had arrived about twenty minutes ago and since then, Cordelia had been yelling constantly. She didn’t want to do anything to help that bleached idiot that had almost killed her, nor did she want to have him here in the office with Angel, claiming that he would kill Angel at first opportunity.

Remy did not speak, feeling it was their private matter. Family thing and he was still a stranger to them. He watched Wesley, intrigued by the way the Englishman kept his counsel to himself, not interrupting the fight. Remy wanted to nudge Angel and point him at the quiet man. Cordelia, while yapping a lot, was going to accept Angel’s decision eventually. He could see it clearly, not even his empathy was needed.

But the Englishman was absolutely another matter. Remy couldn’t sense his emotions clearly even if he used his empathy. The man controlled his emotions so tightly, hid them so deep, that it disturbed Remy. He was used to sensing other people’s emotions, even unintentionally. It was like having an emotional map of the space, inside his mind. But Wesley Wyndham-Price with his dark, intelligent eyes behind the glasses was a blank hole that made him feel uneasy.

Wes caught his gaze and their eyes met, one pair thoughtful other hooded. Not for the first time Remy decided that he didn’t like Wesley sleeping with Rush. She needed somebody to protect her, and Wesley was too dangerous and too unstable to be that someone. What Remy could sense easily from Wes, was his potential, his lack of stability. Now a gentle man, with up-tight manners, could become a ruthless, violent man if only someone pushed the right buttons. Remy just wondered what the right buttons were.

Rush caught the intense stare between her lover and her friend. Although she didn’t admit it out loud, she was aware of the animosity between them and was grateful that Remy didn’t try to interfere in any way. She knew how protective he was and it meant a lot to her that he let her make her own decisions.

She slid from her chair beside Wesley, forcing the men to break the stare without anyone backing off and went quietly to Remy. He instantly flashed a charming grin her way.

“You look good Remy.” She whispered, ignoring the one sided conversation taking place behind her.

“Feel good too. Angel… he’s a tres-bien amant.” Answered Remy cheekily.

“Remy… what are you going to do?”

He looked at the vampire trying to keep his cool and not to snap at his employee.

“You and I both know how it feels to wait, to desperately pray for help… I am going to help him.”

She looked at him for a long while.

“This is the only reason?”

Remy looked her straight in the eyes again.

“Non. He loves dat man.”

Rush’ eyes widened as she looked at Angel.

“How do you know?”

“Jus’ look at him when he speaks of Spike. Just watch him petite.”

Rush stilled and for the first time really looked at Angel, looked under the stoic mask and at the man inside.

“For God’s sake!” Yelled Cordelia “The last time that idiot was in L.A. he got six hot pokers shoved through your body Angel! What more do you want? He is evil, E V I L! Should I spell it to you? In big letters maybe? EVIL! He is dangerous and wants to kill you!!!!”

Angel growled and his eyes flashed golden for a brief second, before he got himself back under control.

“And it never occurred to you that he may have a reason to hate me? Think woman! Angelus… I… had control over him for over 50 years! I tortured him in ways that make that hot pokers look like a child’s play! I did unimaginable things to him just for fun. Sometimes it took him even a year to heal after some things I have done to him, even with his vampire healing. I owe him.”

Rush saw all the emotions that flickered un the dark eyes before Angel hid them deeply and thought that there was much more that guilt involved.

“I will help you.” She cut in, effectively stopping the argument.

Silently Wesley stood up and nodded.

“Me too.”

They all looked to Cordelia. She gave a loud sigh and then seemed to deflate visibly.

“I think that you all lost your minds, but okay.” She turned to Angel and scowled at him “Just if he kills you, don’t come running back to me!”


	18. Chapter 18

Part 18

They walked the sewers at a fast pace. The plan was that Cordelia would get them supplies of human blood, because they were expecting to find Spike in a very bad condition.

Their leaving was delayed by Wesley. He claimed that he could find a simple spell that would put Spike deeply asleep, to avoid the pain of possible injuries. No one mentioned the fact that it would also make him harmless. Angel understood that, understood that he had to go on compromises.

They all had a role in the plan; Rush said she could remove all physical obstacles, including wall without too much of a commotion. Remy only confirmed that yes, she could do that.

Remy and Rush, both decided that Remy blowing up the walls would be a bit too noticeable.

Angel would lead the way and then carry Spike, as he was physically the strongest of them all. Remy would take his place and fight his way back to the sewers. Wesley was responsible for the spells, defense against some magic traps that Wolfram and Hart was known to use.

Finally they were in place that should be directly under the firm’s building, but there was only a pile of trash and an old, slimy wall…

Angel turned to the ex-Watcher, but Wesley was already taking some herbs from his shoulder bag out and throwing a handful at the wall, murmuring some quiet words in a language that even Angel couldn’t understand.

The powder glowed lightly, leaving a strong smell of herbs in the air, and the image of the wall dissipated leaving a large, extremely heavy looking door instead.

Angel tried giving them an experimental push with his vampire strength but a powerful electric shock send him crashing in the opposite wall. The vampire shook his head, trying to clear it, aware that if it have been anyone alive, the shock would’ve killed them.

“I guess they aren’t joking then.” Remmy summed it up and looked at a pair of cards in his hand. He considered giving them a maximum charge and trying blowing up the door, but there was a very real possibility that he would cause the whole tunnel to collapse. With a sigh he shook his head and put them away.

“Rush,” It was all he said, but the dark haired woman only nodded. She looked at Wes with a mysterious smile in her violet eyes and said softly:

“I bet all of those Watchers that dismissed you as not good enough, would have killed for even a ghost of a chance to watch a real Shaman use his powers.”

She turned to the door and just stood there, silently and motionlessly. Only her eyes glowed slightly.

Angel felt it first. Not many knew that vampires, especially the old ones, could sense ghosts. But they did. And what Angel was now sensing was definitely more than one being.

Then it was Remy’s turn to shiver and step back. His empathy was like a sixth sense to him, and it was only natural to him to be aware of the emotions surrounding him. A mental map.

However the emotions became distant suddenly and were fading by the moment, as if something was separating him from others, something that sucked all of the feelings in like a black hole.

Wesley watched mesmerized as his boss, that he had never before seen to back off from anything was stepping back with his features rippling violently from human to vampire.

His eyes turned to the Cajun. Although very young, he could control the situation like a master player. Wes had a brief flashback of that cool efficiency with which Remy took him out and Angel also. He had a lot of respect for the beautiful young man and would never again underestimate him.

Ands now he watched the Cajun back off with a strangely distressed expression on his face. His eyes were unreadable, as always hidden behind the sunglasses even in the near total darkness of the tunnel. Coming to think of it, he had never seen the man’s eyes clearly. There were always glasses or hair in the way.

Just when he was about to ask what happened, he felt it. Slow, cold sensation on the nape of his neck that made all of his hair stand on ends.

Then they all became aware of the unnatural silence. For what seemed like an eternity, nothing happened. It was so quiet that he could hear his own , fast, anxious breathing.

And then came the terrifying screech of twisted metal, making their teeth hurt. It seemed as if the metal the door were made of, was alive. It pulsed, moved, bunched and caved in, as if possessing a life force, all the time screeching terribly. The total silence from before made it sound even more unholy when Rush suddenly let go of the air in her lungs in one exhale and in one petrifying, explosion of sound the door gave in, as if torn from the inside. The large chunks of the thick door were curling outwards like a flower’s petals, the tears and cracks inside the magically enhanced door formed as easily as tears in paper. 

After just few moments, it was all over. The cutting sound of twisted metal finally stopped, leaving only a wide, gaping hole where the door used to be.

“We were the only ones that were able to hear what happened. No one else.” Rush stated quietly, her breathing a little hard, a film of sweat covered her forehead and she was visibly tired. “Those people use powerful magic. I have never before seen something like this.”

Angel was the first to move. Straightening his jacket he directed his steps towards the newly made entrance. He stopped by Rush and said not looking at her:

“Remind me not to ever cross you, ok?”

She smiled a little, half smile and nodded.

“Ok.”

There was understanding between them now. In no way was she a helpless human.

They made their way through the tunnel, Remy taking care of the electronic alarms, while Wesley disabled all the magical ones. If someone found it surprising that the young Cajun knew how to disarm all of the state-of-the-art alarms, no one asked.

Finally they found themselves in the sublevel three, judging from the signs on the walls. It was where the living, human guards began.

This time it was Angel’s show. Using the preternatural speed and strength, he took the guards down before any of them knew what happened.

Remy watched Angel attack the guards with cold, controlled fury that sent shivers down his spine. The vampire however, did everything as not to hurt the humans permanently. He knocked them unconscious but never really hurt them.

With surprising ease, working like a well oiled machine, they managed to reach the second level. By that time they were aware that they were probably already discovered. They had to find Spike fast, being quiet was no longer imperative.

As soon as they entered the white, harshly lit corridor with small cells on each side, lined along the walls, Remy threw two, lowly charged cards at the security cameras he noticed.

The small explosion disabled the devices, giving them some more time to complete their mission.

Although humans couldn’t smell anything besides chemicals used to sterilize the place, the vampire, especially one as powerful as Angel, could easily detect blood. Copious amounts of blood, judging by the smell in the air.

They were moving as fast as they could, trying to reach the end of the corridor. Before Wolfram and Hart discovered them and sent back up. About fifty feet further Remy suddenly faltered, his right hand going up to his temple. He hissed softly in pain, but shook his head trying to clear it from the onslaught of pain that almost swept him from his feet. The agony the person was suffering must have been extreme to break through Remy’s shields so strongly.

“What happened?” Asked Rush, seeing Remy become pale. She knew enough about his barely trained empathy to know that such behavior meant something.

“Pain… there is someone in a lot of pain ahead of us.”

“It’s Spike” Angel cut in.

“How can you be so sure?” Asked Wesley.

Angel looked at him with his eyes flashing gold every few seconds and said very calmly and very softly:

“I can smell him.”

Remy looked at his lover and understood just how much Angel felt for the other vampire. The emotions he could sense from the vampire were so intense, they were making him dizzy. It all seemed so messed up that he wasn’t sure just what he was sensing.

A lot of affection, some kind of dark, violent desire that was so unlike the calm vampire; it was almost hatred that burned just under the affection, anger and a whole lot of other, contradicting emotions.

“Come on.” Angel hurried them, letting the scent guide him.

When they passed the last curve, the sight that greeted them, shocked all four of them into immobility.

“My God!” Whispered Wesley seeing the tortured form on the floor of a small approximately three square meters cell.

Here, just few feet from the captured vampire, the nauseating scent of old blood and dirt got insufferably strong.

Spike’s trademark, white blonde hair was now pink actually from all of the blood that covered it, along with patches of dirt. His face wasn’t recognizable at all.

His usually sharp, prominent nose was now almost flat and swollen so badly it looked like a blue and black potato that was stitched to his face in some kind of a sick joke.

Both of his eyes were so swollen, that opening them was an impossibility. One of Spike’s eyebrows was cut open so deeply that the white bone could be easily seen in between of red, bleeding flesh.

The younger vampire’s clothes were torn and dirtied to the point of becoming rags. All of his slim body showed numerous gun wounds. His right arm was obviously broken in at least two places judging by the unnatural way it was twisted.

But that still wasn’t the worst. It was Spike’s lower body that was sure to reappear during many dark nights, playing the starring role in their nightmares.

Somebody had deliberately shot through Spike’s knees, ankles and feet. There were also three gunshot wounds in his thighs that looked even more horrible than the deliberate cruelty of destroying his joints.

To heal, the vampire needed to take the bullets out of his body and judging by the marks on the wall and on Spike, he had to pull the bullets out with only his fingers.

Clothing around the wounds was torn and the very injuries were also terrifying. Obviously, being in deep shock and agony, Spike had forced his fingers into the wound and tore his own flesh so that he could take the bullets out.

Wesley was forced to move his eyes away from the nightmarish picture at hearing the Cajun curse in French. Remy was holding a pair of cards in his hand. They were glowing strongly. God, he wanted to blow the bars up, wanted to blow the whole fucking building up, but he couldn’t. The cell was too small and the explosion would hurt the vampire inside. Using the last resources of his will, he forced himself to draw the charge back and put the cards back inside his trench pocket.

“What kind of monster could do this to a living creature?” Asked Rush, her eyes wide filled with horror as she watched the suffering. Wes doubted she was even aware of the tears running down her face. “What monster?” She repeated and her eyes glowed fiercely, more than he had even seen it.

This time there was no silence, no sudden sense of someone being there with them. This time the power came with a roar, with a scream of rage, with thunder that nearly swept then off their feet. Wind blew from behind her and suddenly, when a real scream left her lips, the bars exploded.

The magically enchanted bars, the wall around them and large piece of the ceiling was blown out, the pressure breaking cement blocks into mere dust. Pieces of metal, paint and cement flew all around them, hitting the walls and floor with such force that it was buried some inches deep. Still none of it had touched them or Spike. No matter how much in rage, she still cared enough to provide them some kind of invisible shield.

No matter how fierce Rush’s attack was, it still couldn’t draw their attention from the broken form. As soon as the unearthly wind stopped blowing, Angel was in the cell, kneeling at the unmoving form. He started the sleeping spell Wesley prepared earlier. With a sense of relief that he would be able to help elevate such obvious pain, the Englishman joined Angel and continued to recite the spell.

Wes put a small, green crystal on Spike’s forehead and sighed in relief when it glowed and Spike became incredibly, deadly still, which meant a very deep sleep, coma like sleep.

None of them paid any attention to the alarms screaming over their heads. It didn’t matter in the face of such cruelty and pain.

Lilah kept the crack in the staff door down to a minimum, watching with only one eye as Angel, Wesley, Rush and the Cajun took the unconscious vampire and left. The auburn haired, young man was leading, Wesley behind him with crossbow armed and ready to fire. Angel, holding Spike with surprising gentleness, in his vampire face, was following them. Rush was guarding the tail.

Lilah tried not to look at the young, seemingly harmless woman, not wanting to remember what happened between them. She watched Angel lift the broken body with touching tenderness and watched Remy come closer to position Spike’s head so that it wouldn’t loll without support.

Lilah was holding her cell phone, her finger on the speed dial button, but still she didn’t press it. She watched as one by one they disappeared behind the corner, now only the young Shaman still in her sight, when Rush suddenly stopped.

There was some kind of tension in her slim form, her shoulders still and head slightly turned. Suddenly the black haired woman turned around, her extraordinary violet eyes glowed lightly as she looked straight in Lilah’s direction.

For what seemed an eternity, Rush just stood there, silent, motionless and still like the ghosts she saw and stared in Lilah’s direction, a strange aura of power around her.

Finally, she turned away and followed her friends, leaving the red haired lawyer alone. And if her hands shook when she finally pressed the button, and if her voice shook just a little, she didn’t acknowledge it.

“Yes?” Came the calm, cultured voice from the other side of the line.

“They have taken Spike.” She reported as calmly as she could.

“The object was with them?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

 

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Part 19

It was no use trying to sleep, his mind just couldn’t let go of the fact that his errant Childe was just few doors from him.

It took him some time, but Angel had finally gotten used to the thought that his errant Childe was a Master Vampire himself, that he was powerful enough to stand up to him and maybe even win. Although he would never admit to it, he held a lot of… respect for Spike.

 

They fought many times, and lately Angel had the tendency to lose these battles. Spike was a powerful vampire and strangely, Angel was proud of him. However there was also this other side. The dualism of his feeling was sometimes driving him insane. On one side there was lust which he admitted, regret for all the bad blood between them and respect, on the other side, there was something fierce, a white hot emotion that bordered on hate. Hatred for the fact that Spike had touched what was his, that he dared to touch Buffy, for the betrayal, for all the times when his Childe tried to kill him, tortured him and did everything that possible to make his life miserable. 

Angel was fairly sure that one of these days, one of them would end up dust. There was simply too much hate and aggression between them. Angelus never really hurt William because the younger vampire amused him, and of course beatings and tortures were daily fare. They were both vampires and that didn’t count as anything worthy of seeking revenge. No, the reason for Spike’s hatred of him was something entirely different.

Drusilla.

His beautiful, mad Childe… She was his work of art; he broke, seduced and drove her into madness. He had undone her and hurt her more than anything since. The hurt, the agony he’d caused the beautiful young woman, Spike could not forgive. Because of her, Spike would do anything to kill him and he knew it.

The other thing that really terrified him was the amount of emotion Spike made him feel. When he saw Spike’s battered and broken form in that cell at Wolfram and Hart, he was shocked into silence. He just couldn’t quite connect the helpless, bleeding figure with the powerful, quicksilver vampire he knew. His first instinct was to take him away from the place that so obviously hurt him and heal him, but as soon as he realized his weakness, his desire for the younger vampire, a white, cold anger suffused him. Anger at those who hurt Spike so badly and anger at himself for his weakness. How was he supposed to fight Spike if his mind was in his gut?

Eventually the decision wasn’t his. He had vowed to help the helpless and Spike was helpless at that moment. Besides, he was chipped and couldn’t hurt humans. He had helped in Sunnydale long enough that he deserved at least that. And if there were other reasons for his actions, for his desire to cradle Spike to his chest and protect him from pain, he didn’t acknowledge them.

But now, lying next to his exhausted lover, feeling the warmth of his living body seep into him and smelling the rich scent of his auburn hair, he could think only about Spike and the obvious agony he was in.

Quietly, as not to disturb the sleeping man, he got up and left the room, dressed only in his black silk pajama bottoms. As soon as he was on the corridor he could smell him so clearly as if he was just beside him. The familiar scent of Spike… and pain.

Angel stopped in front of the door leading to the bedroom in which they left Spike to recover.

When they brought him to the hotel, Angel had fed him several blood bags, knowing that it would help his recovery… but not much. The only thing that would make Spike stronger right now was the blood of his Sire.

His blood. 

And he refused it. Refused to give his Childe the thing he so clearly desired, needed to heal. Because it meant too much, Angel had given his blood to Spike only once.

Only when he was breaking his bond with Dru, making Spike his own.

Never again did he let this creature so close to himself. No matter how hurt he was, in what agony. He’d even let him be in a fucking wheelchair for months because he wouldn’t let him drink his blood.

But he was in pain.

Even here, on the other side of the door, Angel could hear the weak whimpers and could smell the overwhelming stench off of pain pouring off the vampire.

He sighed.

So many emotions, so many feelings… anger, desire, hatred, disgust, jealousy… it all swirled inside him, distracting him and making him confused. And he hated being that way.

But he also couldn’t stand here smelling his Childe’s tears, knowing that the pain must be unbearable for Spike to allow himself such a weakness.

Making his decision, he opened the door, his vampire night vision granting him a clear sight of the figure curled on the bed and shivering uncontrollably.

The scent of blood, sweat, pain and tears assaulted him and he had to close his eyes for a moment to regain control over himself. Spike looked… bad.

He was lying on his side, curled as much as his injuries allowed, shivering, almost shaking. His face was bluish, lips bloodless and stretched into a thin line. His eyes were closed and his cheeks with those incredible cheekbones, were wet with tears he couldn’t control. Every so often, Spike would whimper and Angel knew it was only his willpower that stopped him from screaming in agony.  
It caused something in Angel to break. He could not, would not let him suffer like that.  
Without further thought he crawled onto the bed, behind the shaking figure and slowly, careful of the countless bandages and injuries, pulled him close.  
He heard the shocked gasp that escaped the blond vampire when Angel pulled him to his chest, letting his fingers touch one wet cheekbone in a gesture he hoped was reassuring. Then he slowly and carefully tugged till the younger vampire was lying on his back, his hurting body trying to curl into fetal position even then.

He noticed that Spike kept his eyes firmly closed as if afraid to look at Angel, even though he was well aware of his being there. It hurt, surprisingly badly, when Angel realized that Spike would rather suffer this agony than ask for help.

Ask *him* for help…

He put his arm under the startlingly bony shoulders and then pulled him up, trying to press his face into the crook of his shoulder but Spike was to weak to actively help and the way he became bluish-green and his lips parted, not letting any sound out, Angel guessed he caused him even more pain.

When he reached for his head, to steady it, Spike flinched slightly before he had the time to touch it. It made something in him tighten painfully.

Were the things between them so bad, that he couldn’t even stand his touch?

With a final effort he finally pressed the cold, bloodless lips to his neck, still warm from Remy’s body heat.

“Drink Childe…” he could feel the violent tremors that shook Spike’s broken body but still the younger vampire stayed motionless and limp in his arms.

“Will…” he unconsciously called him by his mortal name, the name that belonged to a man that no longer existed and a fledgling vampire that also ceased to exist almost a century ago.

That finally prompted Spike to move and weakly, struggling like a starved kitten, he tried to push himself away from Angel’s chest. More tears of pain and choked whimpers almost broke Angel’s heart.

He could smell the tears Spike was no longer able to control and smell blood from the wounds that reopened at Spike’s weak struggles.

He tightened his hold on the broken vampire and freed one hand. He parted the skin on his neck and cut through his vein, feeling warm, potent blood welling in the cut and then pouring on his pale skin.

Spike stilled as soon as the smell reached his nostrils. His eyes were still closed, his cheeks still wet from tears of pain and jaw tightly clenched as not to allow any sounds to escape. The blood he could smell so close to him was proving stronger to resist than anything before. It was blood he hadn’t tasted in over a century. Even when he captured Angel and hired Marcus to torture him, he never got to taste the blood.

 

Because a Childe could kill his master, breaking the rules, but if he was strong enough it could be forgiven. Just like Angel had killed Darla. But he was always too powerful for other vampires to act against him.

 

The only Lore that was never allowed to be broken was the taking of a Sire’s blood without permission. That blood would give him strength, but would also mark him for eternity to other vampires as someone who had broken the Lore.  
It was unlikely that even the strongest Childe would be allowed to survive.

The pain, the agony Spike was in was proving to be stronger than his feelings  
and with a whimper of self disgust and need at the same time, he moved this little distance and put his lips to the bleeding wound, feeling his face shift into demon visage and his fangs emerge.

Angel noticed a twitch in Spike’s body, tension that signaled that the vampire had smelled Angel’s powerful blood. As gently as possible, Angel pressed the black and blue lips to the purposefully bleeding wound in his neck. He couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped him at the first tentative touch of the wet, cold tongue. Immediately after the first taste, Spike began sucking with soft, hungry noises, his broken fingers trying to catch something, to hold Angel close and still.

Even if his heart told Spike that he wanted nothing from Angel, the vampire was his Sire. A Sire who was 250 years old and had spent an additional 500 years in Hell becoming stronger and more powerful. Spike might now know about Hell, but he could taste the strength in Angel’s blood, could feel it heal him like nothing else could ever have and he sucked, drawing as much of the precious liquid as he could.

It took Angel a moment to realize that Spike didn’t bite. He did not have express permission to do so, he couldn’t bite before he heard the sacred words, and he was already in too much pain to risk more by ignoring the sacred lore and biting his Sire without permission. Or maybe, Angel thought, he was too disgusted and hated him too much to bite him.

There was something incredibly personal and intense in mutual feeding. For one moment they would share their emotions, laying all that they felt bare. Of course there was a possibility to hide the deep feelings from others, providing one could control himself. However, Spike was too weakened, too much in pain to be able to do that.

“My blood is your blood, my blood is life… and I give it to you freely. Drink my Childe... drink and heal.”

Just like he expected, there was some hesitation but the pain Spike was experiencing finally forced him to bite. The first feeling of fangs breaking skin, parting his flesh, to finally bury themselves in the vein pulsing with his powerful blood was heady.

Angel felt his body tense in pain/pleasure when the younger vampire bit weakly into his vein, drinking greedily, making soft needy sounds. Spike probably hadn’t even noticed that his hands were gripping Angel’s shoulders with all the strength that was left in his broken body.

The first pull of blood wasn’t tentative at all. If anything, Spike was a survivor.  
As soon as his half conscious mind registered the possible effects of drinking his Sire’s blood he did just that with fervor that was such an essential part of his being. Angel scrambled to hide his emotions, to hide all the feelings Spike made him experience. He struggled so hard to protect himself that it took him a moment to realize that he could sense Spike’s emotions. They were strong, primal and overwhelming and he knew that Spike wasn’t able to control it at all.

The confusion came first. The younger vampire couldn’t understand why Angel was there, he couldn’t understand why he was feeding him blood that was even more powerful than the Slayer’s

Then there was pain and betrayal. Pain caused by all the hurt he suffered, caused by his inability to protect himself against what was for Spike ‘happy meals on legs’. The humiliation of that fact was driving him insane with anger and confusion.

Under all of that lay the emotion that made Angel think that he might have made the biggest mistake of his life, when he left Spike after getting cursed with his soul.

Yes, he loved Buffy, he adored her with his whole being, admiring her light and her goodness. He was in awe that she still could love him even when she saw what a monster he really was. But it was something that would, could never be. They belong to different, opposite worlds and there was no compromise between them.

She was just a young girl, with her whole life before her. Life in the light, where he could not be with her.

But with Spike it was something entirely different. It was passion and understanding. William knew all of the worst parts of him, knew Angelus, he was carrying his own demon in his undead body, and he still wanted Angelus, loved him with dark passion that only another vampire could know.

 

And now Angel was flooded with a sea of loneliness and betrayal. Even after all of those years, all of the monstrous things they had done to each other and all those tortures Spike inflicted, the blond vampire still couldn’t understand nor forgive, why his family had left him.

First Angel, just disappearing one day. And then Drussilla, leaving him for an ugly, slimy Chaos demon, claiming that Spike could never be good enough for her, demon enough for her. Not like her Daddy…

Angel didn’t need Spike to tell it all to him. He knew what he was doing in that old factory where Drusilla and he lived after he lost his soul in Sunnydale.

He kept humiliating Spike, hurting him in every possible way, physically and emotionally. He took Dru away from the blond vampire because he knew that it would hit the mark, hurt Spike the most to take his Dark Princess away from him, make her look at him with disgust.

Dru, his mad Childe, could not accept Spike again after all of the things Angelus had done to her, after all the ways her Sire had hurt her. Spike would, could never top that because Spike loved the mad vampiress and Angel had not.

That love, that humanity in Spike that survived all the things that he had done, was the very reason Angelus hurt and tormented the blonde vampire so.

But now, with his soul firmly attached to him, he was jealous of that. He had to struggle to find his place among his human employees, while Spike could so it effortlessly.

Angel kept stroking the short, clotted hair, humming a long forgotten lullaby, trying to calm Spike on a subconscious level.

When William was just a fledgling, barely risen vampire, Angelus often hummed that lullaby. It always made Will fall asleep, no matter how badly hurt he was after another session with his Sire.

Angel lay there, humming softly to his feeding Childe, doing his best to ignore his raging erection, a natural side effect of letting his Childe, any Childe, feed from him.

But ignoring, the unconscious thrusting of the other vampire’s hips was so much harder to do. Spike was also hard, so lost in feeding and too exhausted from suffering to be able to control himself. The lullaby Angel hummed in a voice Spike hadn’t heard so soft in almost a century, was also taking effect and the blonde vampire was slowly falling asleep. The pulls of blood from Angel’s neck were becoming less and less strong. Spike was swallowing less and less, till his consciousness closed, his fangs retreating now that he was asleep.

Angel turned him so that the younger vampire lay comfortably on his side and watched the pale, heavily beaten face heal in front of his eyes.

There was some kind of gentleness, vulnerability in Spike when he was asleep. Seeing him like that was something special, something Angel would remember for a long time.

Only those Spike trusted could actually see him sleep. But while he was a sucker for sex, and would fuck almost everything, he would never fall asleep with someone he didn’t trust. Darla has never seen Spike sleep- only sometimes unconscious when he couldn’t stand her torture any more.

Angel stroked the short, bleached blonde hair and not thinking about his actions, leaned closed to gently kiss the sleeping vampire. It was only a brush of his lips over the bruised cheek and thin, now painted with his own blood, lips. A kiss that spoke about his feelings in many more ways that he would ever want to acknowledge.

Refusing to think about the regret with which he let the sleeping vampire go, about the desire to stay there and hold Spike till he was healed, Angel got up and went towards the door.

The door was ajar.

Angel frowned. He was sure that he closed them when he came in.

Then he smelled him.

Slowly he stepped out of the room, not surprised to see Remy, dressed only in his baggy, riding low on his hips sweatpants and nothing more.

His smooth chest gleamed in soft, cold moonlight coming into the corridor through small crack in the window at the end of the corridor.

His auburn hair, tussled from the desperate sex they had earlier were loose around his face, touching his slim yet well developed shoulders, his strange, red on black eyes were hidden behind the ever present sunglasses even in the middle of the night.

Remy pushed himself away from the wall, his lean, supple body flexing sensually, causing Angel to remember the mind blowing sex they shared from the very start. 

After returning from Wolfram and Hart and dressing Spike’s wounds, they needed to clean their mind of the cruelty they saw reflected in the wounds on the younger vampire’s body. They needed to forget all that horror they saw. It resulted in rough, desperate sex that left them both with bruises. But the marks on Remy’s shoulders were already barely visible. Technically, Remy should be too sore to be able to move so freely after the harsh way Angel treated him, but the Cajun didn’t seem to feel any discomfort.

Angel wondered when the young man would notice that fact.

“Remy… This… nothing happened. I just fed him my blood. It will make him heal much faster.”

It unnerved Angel, the way Remy stared at him with his head slightly cocked to the side.

“Nothing happened.” Assured Angel, realizing that it may not look good from when Remy stood. After all he slipped out of their bedroom and sneaked into Spike’s room half naked, not to mention the pact that he was caught leaving Spike’s bed. Judging by the door that were left ajar, Remy saw that last parting kiss Angel placed on the sleeping man’s face.

“You want him.” Said Remy quietly and no matter how much Angel extended his senses, he could not tell what Remy felt right then.

“I d..” He wanted to deny, but Remy nodded his head towards the obvious bulge in his silk pajama bottoms.

“It’s just… it’s just a side effect of letting him drink from me. Vampire thing…”

Remy calmly raised his head, letting Angel look into his alien eyes, piercing him with them like red laser and said calmly, with more self assurance that Angel had ever heard from him.

“Do you realize that you love him?”

Angel jerked back as if hit and it took him a moment to compose himself.

“I loved him, there is a difference.”

Remy just looked at him, not intimidated at all by his large figure.

“If you didn’t need to carry him out of that building, you would have tore that place apart, soul or no. Did you realize that the whole evening, from the moment we found him, through taking care of his wounds, even while making love, you had your vampire features on? They smoothed out only when you finally fell asleep.”

Angel opened his mouth but nothing came out. He didn’t know and was surprised and even awed that none of his friends made a fuss about it.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He stated hastily, with a growl in his voice but it didn’t faze Remy because the Cajun was sure he was right. The only thing that surprised him was Angel’s denial of his feelings.

Remy looked at the closed door and decided that the vampire behind them could cause the pain in Angel to go away or at least lessen significantly and no matter if he wanted or no, Remy was going to force those two together.

As for Spike… Remy didn’t know him and didn’t care. He had enough of caring about people who didn’t give a damn about him.

All the anger at being betrayed by his friends came back and he grit his teeth against it. From now on, he was going to care only about those who cared about him.

“Angel!” He called after the retreating vampire.

Angel stopped and looked at him quizzically.

“If it was me… there in the cell… would you come for me?” Remy asked tentatively. No one ever came for him before.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you now belong to me. My friend, my lover, my family. When I asked for help, you didn’t even hesitate. You brought Rush here and saved my soul… you are mine now.”

Remy felt something squeeze his throat.

“Merci.” He whispered softly.

“Come on.” Said Angel, outstretching his hand toward Remy. “Let’s go back to bed.”

When Remy caught the cool hand he decided. Fuck what Spike wanted. If there was even a spark of desire, he could easily manipulate those two to end up in bed together. He had a feeling that there wouldn’t be much trouble after that.

“Oui. Let’s go.”

 

tbc


	20. Chapter 20

Part 20

Remy sat quietly on the roof of the Hyperion Hotel and watched as the sun started rising, painting the dark sky red and gold, he watched the tendrils of light that reached above the buildings, lightening the darkness around him with each second.

He could already feel the warmth on his skin, warmth that chased away the coldness of the night, but could never chase away the cold he felt inside.

Deep, deep inside there was something that seemed frozen from the moment he realized that no one would come back for him in Antarctica. That he was not needed, that he was left to die.

Ever since he felt something different… inside… his head. It was like a forgotten memory that pushed and pressed on his mind, trying to force him to remember.

He fought it, fought hard against this strange sensation in his head. He didn’t trust it. Whatever he may see it could not be the truth. So many different people tampered with his head that he wasn’t sure of anything. It was one thing he could associate with Logan. Remy always thought that the feral mutant was the only one to understand him. After all Logan was also captured and tested in a laboratory, the scientists messed his head so bad he couldn’t distinguish reality from implanted memories at all.

With a sigh Remy leaned back, feeling his back connect with the cold wall behind him. He reached inside his trench coat and pulled set of small earphones. Putting them on, he switched on the radio. He found listening to music freeing, liberating. It allowed him to express emotions he usually kept hidden deep inside.

He closed his eyes and listened to the startlingly true words of the song that was now playing.

*

I cannot find a way  
To describe it  
It's there  
Inside  
All I do is hide  
I wish  
That it  
Would just go away  
What would  
You do?  
You do?  
If you knew...  
What would you do?

*  
God, he was so angry. So angry and hurt. He should forget it all, forget the X-Men, forget the pain but he couldn’t. He felt it eat at his soul, at his heart… causing him to change, to be someone he didn’t really like.

But he couldn’t stop it. It just was there. Strong, burning like hatred and so much deeper than anything he had ever felt.

Sometimes it really scared him. Such rage was unfamiliar to him. He was a temperamental being and he knew it damn well, but this… this deep, cold anger was something entirely new. He never really could hold grudges against anyone. It simply wasn’t his way. He had survived so many bad things, has seen and experienced hatred at its worst and if he kept his hatred, it would destroy him, burning him out. So he forgave, forgot and went with his life, trying not to look back.

But this was different. The hurt was deeper than anything he’d known before.

*

All the pain  
I thought I knew  
All these thoughts lead back to you  
Back to what  
Was never said  
Back and forth  
Inside my head  
I can't handle this confusion  
I'm unable  
Come and take me away

*

His eyes still closed, feeling the warmth of the early morning sun on his face Remy tried to be honest with himself. He tried to remember when he changed so much that forgiveness, which was such an important part of him, became something no longer available.

*

I cannot find a way  
To describe it  
It's there  
Inside  
All I do is hide  
I wish  
That it  
Would just go away  
What would  
You do?  
You do?  
If you knew...  
What would you do?

*

It didn’t surprise him that the memory came to him so fast and was so clear. Now, when he thought about it, it was the moment he fell for Logan.

Remy opened his eyes, forcing himself to look into the red-orange sun rising slowly, forced himself to feel the pain of light on his overly sensitive eyes, but kept them open even when tears started rolling down his cheeks.

Such a stupid, foolishly romantic thing made him look at the feral mutant and feel things he had never really felt. He had never loved someone in such a deep, soul consuming way as he did Logan.

He smiled bitterly, painfully at the memory of his stupidity. He fell for the idealistic atmosphere of the Mansion and looked at Logan seeing so much more than a feral beast capable only of killing and fucking. He saw a man that was hurt so deeply he was afraid to let anybody close, he saw a man that was strong enough to survive experiments conducted not only on his body, but his brain also.

He was a fool.

*

All the pain  
I thought I knew  
All these thoughts lead back to you  
Back to what  
Was never said  
Back and forth  
Inside my head  
I can't handle this confusion  
I'm unable  
Come and take me away

*

And to think that his infatuation started with a dream. A stupid, bitter sweet dream.

All those years ago, not long after he joined the X-Men he dreamed a dream that made him look at Logan with different eyes, dream that made him realize just how attractive the man was.

It was a shame that the ending of the dream he knew only now. Laughing out loud he closed his eyes, finally shutting the painful light out. The sound of his laughter was harsh, cold and so bitter that it made him sick to even listen to it.

It was ironic, that the only thing he remembered from his coma were the dreams. One after another, dreams that told him what he didn’t see earlier.

That Logan did not and would never love him.

Because he never loved him before.

*

I feel  
Like I  
Am alone  
All by  
Myself  
I need to get around this  
My words  
Are cold  
I don't want them to hurt you  
If I  
Show you  
I don't think you'd understand  
Cause no one understands

*

If he closed his eyes he could remember the dream… it was so real, like a memory. He could almost taste the sweet air on his tongue, feel the gentle breeze on his face… Giving up the fight, he let the memory resurface.

He was always blind in the first dream but it didn’t bother him. Somehow the fact that his eyes were dead to the world never really scared him. He seemed so… peaceful. Yes. He knew that he was younger than now in the dreams, no older than seventeen.

He lived in some kind of temple. He didn’t see it but knew each and every stone by heart, knew the smell of the old walls, of the tropical flowers that crowded every patch of ground around the large building. He knew all of the monks that lived there, taking care of him.

He could never remember his name, but he was aware of strange innocence inside him. The monks took care of him, but they never came close. He was treated with love and respect, but no one touched him, no one hugged him. He felt like a marble statue, beautiful and untouchable.

There was no continuity in the dream, only flashes of sensations. Like the smell of the soft flower petals on the soles of his feet.

Smells of incense while he walked though the large room filled with silent men.

Loneliness.

And then this overwhelming curiosity to get to know the stranger, the foreigner that was found hurt near the temple. He could hear the hushed talk of the monks that took care of the man and he just had to get to know him.

A memory of a quiet evening, the birds singing so loud it was hard to talk and the gentle feeling of companionship.

The sensation of a big, heavily muscled body behind him. Hairy arms under his sensitive fingers and the feeling of excitement at doing something forbidden.

Another flash, just a scene. Him, curled on his bed, his face still wet from tears. The Father warned him. The stranger was no good. He was too precious, too pure to allow such a low creature to touch him. He was not to meet him again. But the loneliness was too much and he felt the warmth of another man’s companionship when he was with the stranger.

Another flash.

He could almost taste the man, his heavy body pinning him to the soft matters, his rough hands pulling the tunic from his body and the scent. The scent of a man he loved with an intensity that scared him. A scent he could smell every time he was close to Logan.

Even now he could feel the hands entwined into his long hair, keeping his head immobile as a strong, arrogant tongue found it’s way into his mouth. The surrender, like a sweet wine coursed through his body, making him pliant under the hands of a man he could never see. A man his senses knew even better than himself.

And when his lover divested him of all his clothing, when he touched what nobody before him touched, when he took from him something that could never be replaced and whispered incredibly soft words with his rough voice, Remy asked only for one thing.

“Don’t leave me… promise never to leave me.”

In the world of eternal darkness, Remy could only feel lips that traveled up his neck, through his cheek till they reached the parted, swollen lips.

“You are mine… I’ll never leave you alone. You are mine.”

The words of possession were whispered while his lover breached his body for the first time, taking part of his soul with him, taking away the last of his innocence…

*

All the pain  
I thought I knew  
All these thoughts lead back to you  
Back to what  
Was never said  
Back and forth  
Inside my head  
I can't handle this confusion  
I'm unable  
Come and take me away

*

Pretending that the tears he felt on his cheeks were caused by the sun that aggravated his eyes before, Remy reached for the cigarettes hidden in one of the many pockets in his trench coat and lit it with a shaking hand.

“Merde!” He hissed and took a deep breath, inhaling the nicotine in the sweet smelling smoke. God, how he hated loosing control over his emotions.

He knew now that he returned from Antarctica to the X-Men because of Logan. He still hoped that something would happen between them, especially with the way Logan watched him. 

His first clue should be the fact that the dream stopped returning. The vision that accompanied him for so many years had now faded and refused to come back. But he was stubborn and in love. He really believed that something would happen between them if he was patient enough.

However, Logan never reacted to his flirting and every time that something happened that would flare Remy’s hope, the feral mutant would go on one of his soul searching journeys to the Canadian wilderness.

*

I'm going nowhere  
On and on and...  
I'm getting nowhere  
On and on and...  
Take me away  
I'm going nowhere  
On and on and...  
Up and on and  
Up and on

*

It was really ironic when the dream finally came. It started as always, with the images/memories of the temple. He could almost taste his love for that place, for the peace it gave him.

Then all of the sensory images rolled through his brain like a film, filling him with soft, sometimes sad, sometimes happy emotions. But this time the dream didn’t stop on that first night.

He could see himself making love to Logan, because it was Logan he was dreaming about, many times. Endless days spent on exploring the area around the temple, nights filled with touch he had never known before, with love and passion that made his heart swell.

All of that was like water, time flowing smoothly around him, different images and feelings filling him till that last one, the one image that was hidden from him before.

The one scene he remembered when he woke up in the cold infirmary in the Mansion.

Strong hands holding his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as the Father was trying to stop his struggling.

“No! No! No!” It wasn’t even a scream, just a low, constant wail that left his throat like a prayer.

“It’s true. Please calm down…” Calm voice tried to soothe him but he jerked away with strength he doubted he possessed.

“I don’t believe you!”

His blindness didn’t matter as he turned on his heel and run barefoot along the corridors he knew so well, till he reached the wing where his lover was.

He didn’t need to enter the chamber to know that it was empty. His sixth sense sang to him, hummed about the emptiness of the place.

There was no one inside, no one waiting for him. No words of love to be heard from the rough man.

Supporting himself on the old, cold wall Remy closed his eyes against the sting of tears. And in of the rare moments of insight he knew. He knew that his lover would never return for him.

He lied.

He had never loved him.

He was used and left alone like a broken toy, tossed aside.

Something cold and angry found its way into his soul, just a seed but it would grow stronger. In his usually gentle nature anger started, rage and hurt so deep and so strong that they threatened to consume him.

The knowledge that he gave himself to someone that did not appreciate his gift made him sick down to his very soul. God it hurt so much…

*

All the pain  
I thought I knew  
All these thoughts lead back to you  
Back to what  
Was never said  
Back and forth  
Inside my head  
I can't handle this confusion  
I'm unable  
Come and take me away

*

Remy closed his eyes against the sting of tears. The dream… it was so realistic, like a memory. It terrified him, such a strong dream, vision that changed his way of looking at the world.

Now he also understood that ever since that dream, the rage inside him grew colder and stronger, burning just under his skin.

And it wasn’t over.

The dreams had not stopped. He didn’t want to remember them, didn’t want think about them but their realistic cruelty haunted him.

Just this night he had another dream… maybe it was the same dream, maybe it really was a memory. He didn’t know.

He was older in this dream. Ten years. Ten years spent waiting, trying to convince himself that his lover would come back one day, that he hadn’t left him.

Day by day he waited, going out each morning to face the rising sun and beg the gods for the return of his lover.

At each sunset something inside him died nd the coldness increased.

Each day spent on training his body till the point of exhaustion killed something soft and gentle in him.

Every day some of the power left him.

Finally there was nothing left.

The power, the sixth sense, the very reason the monks took care of him was gone.

 

Nothing more was left. Nothing. He stood in the chamber he knew for all of his life, the Father at his side.

His auburn hair was now much shorter. Once reaching to his buttocks, soft and silky was now barely to his shoulders. His hands, before so gentle and sensitive were now rough from all the training he did to exhaust himself. All the ways he tried to exorcise the anger and stupid hope from himself, and nothing helped.

Even the fact that he regained his sight; the moment he realized that his lover abandoned him for real, did not help.

Each day he watched his eyes change. They were brown, or at least he thought so. He couldn’t remember now very well.

He took the polished, stone bowl filled with water from the Father and looked down into the reflective surface. The sight that greeted him should have shocked him, terrified him, but it didn’t. Somehow he felt it deep inside. It was only suitable when everything that was gentle and innocent inside him died, that it would show somehow.

He looked into his own face reflected in the water. His face was still quite delicate if masculine, beautiful even. Silky auburn hair surrounded it but it wasn’t what caught his attention, what caused all of the other monks to turn away from him.

It was the eyes. The testimony of the rage within him. They were no longer a soft brown color, filled with sparks of light, like the Father described them years ago.

No.

They were black with burning red irises in the middle.

The eyes of a white devil.

He turned his eyes at the old, wrinkled man beside him. Surprisingly fragile but also surprisingly wise man. Father.

“I have to leave this place.”

The gentle black eyes watched him with understanding.

“I know.”

Remy turned around to the altar decorated in white lilies behind him. The altar he stood at so many times before and performed things, simple people called miracles. He approached it with slow, sure steps.

Before he would leave, he would use the last of his power.

Standing in front of the altar he put both hands on the surprisingly warm stone. He closed his eyes calling the image of his lover to his mind. It was never a picture, but a collection of sensory memories.

“You took something away from me. You took and never gave back. You wanted to play… used my innocence and naivety.” He said softly feeling the last of his power, the amount he knew he had to save, leave his body and gather in his hands.

Soft light filled his closed palm, all of the incense placed around the altar started burning suddenly with a flash of fire, air seemed to stop and only his words, cold and filled with anger were being heard in the chamber.

“For that I curse you. Over and over again, you will walk this earth and never find love. You threw away my love, so never again will you be able to find it again. Each and every lover will leave you. This I said and so shall it be.”

The light in his palms dissipated, the incense flaring again and then turning into a pile of dust.

The last of his strength left him and he slowly slid to the ground, his dead eyes staring ahead when the Father kneeled next to him and collected his dead body into his old, skinny arms.

There was nothing left.

*

Take me away  
Take me away  
Take me away

*

But it was just a dream. Just a product of his imagination. There was no use in fretting about something he’d just dreamed.

Throwing the butt of his cigarette into the air and watching it explode, Remy got up and brushed his coat from the dirt.

It was just a dream.

Something his subconscious created after watching too much television. After all, he knew he was a foolishly romantic person.

Laughing bitterly at himself, Remy went to the stairs.

It was just a dream…


	21. Chapter 21

Part 21

Something was pulling at her.

Rush moved restlessly in her sleep, trying to ease the invisible tension. Something wasn’t right and her mind fought her need to stay asleep. It was disturbing and unnerving, like rhythmic ringing or knocking… finally something clicked and she started to wake up.

Rush turned her head towards the sound and blinked sleepily, trying to focus her eyesight on the figure standing in the entrance to the bedroom. After few minutes the dryness eased and she was able to see Wesley, standing quietly in the door, watching her with inscrutable expression. He was dressed the same as when she’d seen him leaving, in a black turtleneck, jacket and dark slacks. Elegant and so very sexy. She truly couldn’t remember ever seeing a man that would affect her so much.

His hazel eyes watched her from behind his glasses with a kind of sad knowledge and wonder that made something in her ache for the man, and the child that has never known love and affection.

She knew that Wes often lay awake at night and watched her, as if trying to see right through her and see what would cause her to leave him. Because that was the problem. In everything they did, everything they said, Wesley was always honing this painful belief that he was somehow inadequate, that she will one day look around and say ‘Hey! I can do better!’ and she didn’t know how to assure him that she would not leave him.

“Hey.” She called him softly, her voice still husky from sleep “Have you finally decided that I am more interesting that your work?” Rush purred at him, flapping the corner of the sheet out in a blatant invitation.

But Wesley’s face didn’t change. He just stood there, still and silent, looking at her in a disturbing way.

She wasn’t used to him being so aloof. Their relationship was still so very new, that they behaved mostly like teenagers on a hormonal high. It was unnerving that Wesley could cut himself from their mutual desire so completely.

“Wes? Something’s wrong?” Rush asked suddenly feeling too exposed and wrapping the sheet tightly around herself.

Watching the still man closely, she slid to the foot of the bed. Wesley was watching her, his hazel eyes thoughtful and sad, hiding demons inside that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Tell me.” She demanded feeling the fear creep into her voice. There was something wrong, she could feel it now. It was in the way Wesley looked at her, but not really /at/ her.

Suddenly Wesley pushed himself away from the wall and made a step towards her. Then, standing just a foot away he raised his hand and waited.  
Baffled by the strange behavior and feeling more scared by the minute, she reached for his hand, taking it in her own.

It felt strangely cold.

Her lover finally looked her straight in the eyes. Not through her like before, but really, really looked at her, right into her soul, making her breath hitch. They stared at each other for a long time. She sensed that Wes wanted to tell her something, but couldn’t seem to do so.

Something tickled her senses finally. A scent… and then a strange feeling of warmth under her palm. Puzzled she lowered her eyes to their joined hands and watched in morbid fascination, not quite understanding at the trickle of blood that slipped from under their joined hands.

Suddenly, as if her brain kick started again, she tried to jerk away but Wesley choose that moment to tighten his hand around hers and she was trapped.

Terrified she watched as dozens of small wounds appeared on the hand holding her and all of them bled. In total silence, accompanied only by the pungent smell of blood she watched the wounds open and bleed, watched as the black turtleneck was soaked in thick, red fluid.

Unable to move or breath she watched as the blood run down her lover’s body to the floor only to pool there, she could feel the warm, sickeningly thick rivulets run down her own arm connected to Wes and could feel the sheet around her soak in the precious liquid.

She wanted to scream, to turn away, to run from this but couldn’t. The blood was covering whole of the floor now and started to crawl over the bed sheets up towards her as if wanting to drown her.

The terror finally forced her to move and she jerked back, scrambling on the bed as far away from the ever present, dark blood as she could. She looked wildly around the familiar bedroom and started shaking with suppressed sc reamed as the white walls suddenly opened and warm, pulsing, still live blood pored out of the cracks as if it was a heart.

Suddenly, a scream tore the eerie silence of the room and shocked she looked to Wesley again, watching him claw at his face, pulling away whole patches of skin, leaving open, raw flesh under it and sickeningly white bone.

It was too much and she closed her eyes, letting out a scream that went from the very depth of her soul, pouring all of her pain and terror into it.

Rush jerked awake slicked with sweat and terror, a scream still fresh on her lips.

With her heart still pounding furiously she looked around relieved to find the bedroom normal, the walls white and clean, no smell of blood in the air. Just when she wanted to sigh with relief she heard a sound and jerked back in fear- seeing a figure in the doorway.  
Doyle stood there, silent and still, his green eyes sad. Full of compassion but also knowledge.

/It’s time Rush. You can’t wait any longer/

She watched him step back, obviously fading away from her and a sense of dread stole over her.

/Doyle? What’s going on? What did that mean?/ She asked desperately trying to keep her voice from breaking.

The Irishman gave her a small, half hearted smile and said:

/Do the spell princess, it’s time/

With that he left her alone with her pounding hart and terror still racing through her veins.

* * *

God, he was tired.

It seemed that he was tired constantly lately. He spent so much time on walking from one bar to another and showing Remy’s picture to bartenders and bouncers, hoping that somebody would finally recognize him, that he didn’t have the time to do anything else really.

And he didn’t dream. Not once, since the night Jean told him she had to go back to the Mansion.

Or, to be more specific, he didn’t dream about Remy. But he did dream about something. Something he couldn’t remember when he woke up, drenched in sweat and with his heart pounding.

Something that left him so completely shaken he couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

Cursing another dead end, Logan fell on the bed and lit a cigar. He smoked it staring at the ceiling and tried to figure out what to do.

Before he had the time to reach any conclusions, he fell into a disturbing dream. His body and mind were already exhausted from the near constant tension and lack of rest. The fact that he was getting nowhere with his search also wasn’t helping.

The dream started peacefully. It was just a myriad of pictures, maybe dream like memories.

Him sitting in a meditating position among a beautifully kept garden of plants and watched his lover lie on his back on the green grass, exposing his soft, honey colored skin to the sun with such an obvious pleasure that it made him smile.

Logan watched the finely chiseled face with high cheekbones and big eyes, closed now in pleasure and it made him feel something different than the cold rage inside that he was used to.

Now there was something warm and good and it made him feel incredibly guilty.

There was something he had done, something so very bad that it made his blood run cold, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

The only thing he knew was that he needed to touch, to be close to his lover.

He reached his broad, callused and scarred hand and touched the napping, young man. When the kid smiled and turned his face, framed by auburn, silky tresses, he still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t right with the picture.

When Remy reached out for him and touched his thigh in warm, affectionate, innocently sensual gesture, sliding his fingers up the strained muscle it hit him.

Logan did not have any scars on his hand, nor anywhere on his body.

But then the dream changed from it’s peaceful, almost dream like quality to a fast sequel of hot, enflaming images of that young, supple body in his arms.

Remy’s back arching up when his callused hands touched the younger man’s grin…

His awe that his hands, used for such cruelty before, could cause so much rapture.

A flash of wet, swollen lips of his lover open to him in a breathless exclamation of passion.

The heat of the auburn haired man’s body under his.

The long, slim fingers woven tightly into his hair.

“I will never leave you…” The words so true yet said with just a hint of uncertainty, but his lover never noticed.

As fast as the images came, they stopped.

The time seemed to freeze, hold still for a moment and Logan thought he woke up. He opened his eyes only to see an unfamiliar ceiling. He understood that he was dreaming when somebody threw some kind of cloth over his face. He couldn’t smell the intruders nor hear them when they kept his hands and face smashed to the floor as he struggled to get free. He could feel a material gag being forced into his mouth and he growled through it when it was strapped tightly on the back of his head. He tried to fight back, to struggle, to throw the assassins off of him, but his body was strangely weak and his claws didn’t respond to him. He felt helpless, vulnerable and incredibly.. human.

His arms were twisted forcefully behind his back and tied with efficient moves, the rough rope biting painfully intro his skin. He tried to fight with all his strength, twisting his body and kicking at anyone near enough, grunting with satisfaction as he heard the tell-tale thump of a body hitting the wall. But there were simply too many of them and soon he felt a powerful blow to his head, sending a flood of pain through his system, ending with the feeling of nausea and mind numbing pulsing behind his eyes.

There was nothing he could do.

He was tied with more rope and then dragged through stone corridors, blindfolded and gagged, hurting and afraid. He could tell that these people were serious and he didn’t need them telling him, that they wanted to kill him.

He was pushed on a horse and after a long and painful ride during which he did everything that was possible to hold off his nausea and not choke on his own vomit through the gag.

After a while he was dumped on the damp forest floor and the blindfold was taken from his eyes.

The last thing he saw was a face of an old man as he plunged a long dagger into his heart.

The explosion of pain was followed soon by a foretelling sense of weakness as his blood left his body soaking into the earth, and his life with it.,

The last thing he remembered, before the darkness overwhelmed him were quite, venomous words hissed into his face:

“Traitor!”

Logan woke up with a start, his heart was beating in terror and his hands were clenching at the invisible wound in his chest.

It was so real, so damn real to feel his own death. The terror and the pain came back to him tenfold and Logan could feel the beast inside him take control.

Suddenly a familiar scent stopped him. He turned around only to see Remy kneeling beside the bed, his face gentle and concerned as he reached to touch Logan, comfort him.

Logan watched the frail looking kid with his pulse still wild from the dream and his throat sore from screaming.

And the realization hit him like a freight train.

“You are not Remy” He said slowly, carefully, as if not sure that the words were his.

The hand reaching for him stilled suddenly.

“You are not Remy Etienne LeBeau!” Repeated Logan more forcefully this time and rose from the bed, his body tense and ready to fight, the adrenalin still coursing through his veins.

The kneeling young man didn’t move except letting his hand fall gently to the bed. His eyes, sad and silent, were still locked on the feral mutant.

“Who are you? And what do you want from me?” Growled the Canadian.

The young man’s lips didn’t move but still Logan heart his answer as clearly as if it was said aloud.

~Find me…~

Logan shivered. The words were like nothing he knew before… it didn’t resemble any kind of telepathic contact he’d experienced before.

The feral mutant blinked, and when he opened his eyes he was alone, just like every time before.

With his hands still slightly unstable, he combed his thick hair into two spikes, tugging at them sharply to regain some focus and trying to establish if he was really awake this time.

With his mind still spinning he sat down on the bed and hid his head in his hands. It certainly wasn’t what he had expected. He wanted to find Remy LeBeau, the thief he knew. Now it seemed that he was looking for someone entirely different.

There was one more question that sent a chill through his body, but he didn’t want to think about it right now. He didn’t want to know just to whom he made love in his dreams so many times before…

tbc


End file.
